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Deacon    Richmond. 

Sea  pajs  OS 


ERNEST  rilCIIMOND 


AND    HIS    LITTLE    MOTHER. 


By  MARY  GRACE  HALPINE. 


"  I  thank  Uiee,  0  Father,  Lord  of  heaven  and  earth,  that  thon 
hast  hid  these  things  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  revealed 
them  unto  babes." 

"  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  hast  thou  ordained 
strensth,  because  of  mine  enemies." 


FIVE     ILLUSTRATIONS. 


^cui   L'oi*'^': 


PUBLISHED  BY  CARLTON  &  PORTER, 

8UNDAV-SOIIOOL   UNION,    JiXl    MULUEBRY-STiCBirr. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Comtress,  in  the  year  1863,  by 
CARLTON    &    PORTER,' 

in  the  Cierls's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for 
the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


TO 

MR.  AND   MRS.  WILLIAM  C.  BROWN, 

THI 

Faithful  friends  and  counselors  through 
many  a  dark  hour, 

QT^tjs  Book 

IS  QEATEFULLY   INSCRIBED 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


It  may  be  proper  to  state,  that  the  story  narrated  in 
the  followmg  pages  is  strictly  true.  All  of  its  charac- 
ters once  moved  and  breathed,  and  part  of  them  are  liv- 
ing now. 

Some  of  our  readers  may  consider  the  character  of 
Ernest  to  be  most  too  perfect  to  be  altogether  natural, 
and  entertain  doubts  as  to  whether  any  such  person  ever 
existed ;  yet  they  would  not  think  thus  had  they  known 
the  dear  boy,  of  whom  as  faitliful  a  portraiture  as  human 
Lands  can  produce  would  fall  far  short  of  the  original. 

He  was,  indeed,  an  ivncommon  child;  superior  to  most 
children,  not  only  in  the  maturity  of  his  intellect,  but 
in  the  elevation  of  his  soul,  and  his  history  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  manifestations  of  the  power  and  good- 
ness of  God  that  ever  fell  under  our  observation.  Yet 
Bueh  eases,  though  rare,  are  occasionally  to  be  met  with, 
HA  many  hearts  can  testify ;  and  none  but  the  spiritually 
blinded  could  have  seen  him  as  he  was,  when  first  intro- 
duced to  the  reader,  and  in  the  closing  days  of  his  life, 
and  fail  to  recognize  the  hand  of  God.  And  to  us  it 
Btems  not  unmeet  that  He,  who  was  once  a  little  child 
himself,  and  who  chooses,  so  often,  "  the  weak  things 
of  the  earth  to  confound  the  mighty,"  in  order  that  the 
power  of  God  may  be  made  more  manifest,  should  have 
chosen  infant  hands  to  perform  a  work  which  wise  and 
experienced  minds  had  striven  in  vain  to  accomplish. 

The  life  and  character  of  the  infidel  father  affords  a 
Btriking  illustration  of  the  patience  and  forbearance  of 
God,  as  exercised  toward  his  rebellious  cliildren,  and 
the  simple  means  by  which  he  often  brings  about  the 
most  important  results.  The  stammering  tongue  of  a 
babe  in  Christ,  and  a  few  lines  from  the  pen  of  a  dying 


8  PREFACE, 

sister,  were  the  feeble  instruments  by  wliich  God  hum- 
bled the  heart  which  for  many  years  had  proved  obdu- 
rate to  the  most  touching  and  eonvincing  appeals. 

The  character  of  Deacon  Eichmond  is,  we  fear,  a  not 
uncommon  one,  and  speaks  solemnly  to  Christian 
parents  of  the  danger  of  a  too  austere  and  rigid  disci- 
pline, and  of  the  duty  of  rendering  home  jdeasant,  an<l 
religion  attractive  to  their  children.  This  neglect,  to- 
gether with  the  inconsistencies  of  many  who  bear  tlie 
name  of  Christ,  is  one  of  the  most  fruitful  causes  of  in- 
fidelity, in  all  its  varied  forms.  Nature  (which  is  but 
another  name  for  God)  has  designed  the  season  of  youth 
to  be  one  of  joy  and  gladness,  and  children  cannot  be 
expected  to  love  that  which  tends  to  render  it  otherwise. 

We  have  now,  in  our  mind's  eye,  certain  individu- 
als, the  children  of  Christian  parents,  brought  up  to  a 
strict  observance  of  every  Christian  ordinance,  who  as 
soon  as  they  left  the  paternal  roof  threw  aside  all  re- 
straint, and  embracing  the  most  pernicious  doctrines, 
plunged  into  every  possible  excess,  simply  because  they 
were,  while  young,  debarred  from  the  innocent  pleasures 
natural  to  youth  ;  and  religion  was  rendered  so  distaste- 
ful, that  it  was  but  another  name  to  them  for  gloom  and 
discomfort. 

Some  writer  has  beautifully  said,  "  That  he  who  makes 
truth  disagreeable  commits  high  treason  against  virtue." 
And  it  is  none  the  less  true,  that  those  Christians  who 
give  to  our  holy  religion,  which  seen  in  its  true  light  is 
so  exceedingly  fair  and  lovely,  and  was  first  communi- 
cated to  us  as  "  tidings  of  great  joy,"  a  gloomy  and  re- 
pulsive aspect,  inflict  a  lasting  injury  upon  the  cause 
that  they  profess  to  love  and  honor. 

If  the  perusal  of  this  unpretending  volume  shall  lead 
any  such  to  the  knowledge  of  their  error,  giving  them  a 
more  enlightened  view  of  the  obligations  incumbent 
upon  them,  there  will  be,  at  least,  one  who  will  not  regret 
the  time  and  labor  it  has  cost. 

The  Authob. 


CONTENTS. 


Chaptkr                                  ..  Pasb 

I.  The  Xeglf;cted  Child 11 

II.    EnXEST  ANT)   THE   WOXDERPUL   BOOK.  ...  19 

III.  The  Fashiox-^ble  Mother 23 

IV.  The  Solkm.n'  Que.stiox,  axd  its  Axswer.  30 
V.  Erxest  and  his  fuiexd  Tommy 33 

YI.  Erxe.st  retukxs  Good  for  Evil 44 

VII.  Ruth  vlsits  the  Drunkard's  Home...  51 

VIII.  Ernest  introduces  his  Father  to  Ruth  58 

IX.  Deacon  Ricumon'd 65 

X.  The  Stern  Father  and  his  Motherlkss 

Children 1.3 

XT.  The  Meeting  between  the  Father  and 

Son 90 

XII.  Mr.  Richmond's  Unhappy  Marriage  . .  100 

XIII.  The  Infidel  Father  silenced 110 

XTV.  Mr.    Richmond's    Conversation     with 

Ruth 120 

XV.  Ernest  Disobeys  his  Father 144 

XVI.  Mr.  Richmond  takes  Erne.st  to  the  Sea- 
shore   153 


10  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  Paoi 

XVII.  Ernest  and  ins  Xew  Governess 170 

XVIII.  Madame  Dupont's  Discomfiture 181 

XIX.  Ernest  is  taken  III 195 

XX.  Ernest  returns  Home 205 

XXI.  Mr.  Richmond  gives  Ernest  up 219 

XXII.  Passing  over  the  Dark  River 234 

XXIII.  Passing  prom  Death  unto  Life 248 

XXIV.  Mr.  Richmond's  public  avowal  of  his 

Faith  in  Christ 265 

XXV.  Mr.  Richmond  visits  his  Native  Town.  274 


|Uustrati0ns. 


Deacon  Richmond 2 

Ruth's  Disappointment 122 

Margaret's  Confusion 193 

Ernest's  Death-bed 2,^G 

Deacon  Richmond  blessing  his  Son 285 


ERNEST    RICHMOND 

AXD 

HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  NEGLECTED  CHILD. 

It  was  near  the  clos6  of  a  pleasant  day  in 
the  early  part  of  spring  that  Ruth  Sidney, 
after  tying  the  bonnet  of  the  youngest  of 
her  little  charge,  and  consigning  her  to  the 
care  of  an  older  sister,  stepped  out  of  the 
small  brown  school-house,  where  she  reigned 
a  queen,  though  with  a  mild  and  gentle  sway, 
and  pursued  her  way  homeward. 

After  proceeding  a  short  distance,  she 
opened  the  side  gate  which  led,  though  by  a 
circuitous  route,  to  a  stately,  but  rather 
rambling  mansion,  surrounded  by  grounds 
laid  out  with  more  than  usual  taste  and 
beauty,  and  partly  shaded  by  huge  elms, 


12  EKNEST  RICHMOND 

which  stretched  out  'their  giant  branches 
from  every  side. 

As  she  was  passing  beneath  one  of  the  win- 
dows, a  sound  struck  upon  her  ear  which 
made  her  involuntarily  pause  and  listen. 

"  Don't  go  away,  Bridget.  I  feel  sick,  and 
am  afraid  to  stay  alone,"  said  the  voice  of  a 
child  which  she  had  heard  before. 

"Whist,  ye  little  villin!  ye're  not  sick; 
it's  making  believe  ye  are!"  said  a  sharp 
wiry  voice  in  reply.  "  It's  not  Bridget 
M'Carty  that  will  be  cooped  up  from  morn- 
ing till  night  with  the  likes  of  yees,  and  not 
taste  one  mouthful  of  God's  blissid  air  for 
one  minit,  jist." 

The  door  closed  with  a  heavy  slam,  and 
the  child's  sobs  redoubled. 

After  hesitating  a  moment  Ruth  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  portico,  and  entered  the 
room  whence  the  sobs  proceeded  by  means 
of  an  open  window,  which  descended  to  the 
floor. 

It  was  lofty  and  spacious,  and  everything 
about  it  indicated  that  its  owner  possessed 
not  only  wealth,  but  a  refined  and  cultivated 
taste.  Yet  strangely  out  of  keeping  with  all 
this  was  the  pale  face  of  the  neglected  child, 
whose  disordered  though  rich  attire  showed 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  13 

how  much  he  needed  the  watchful  eye  of  a 
mother. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Ernest  ?" 

"  Mamma  has  gone  away  again,"  was  the 
mournful  reply  to  the  above  question,  "  and 
Bridget  is  so  cross.  O  how  I  do  wish  that 
mamma  would  not  go  away  so  much !" 

A  feeling  of  pity  touched  Ruth's  heart  as 
she  looked  upon  him.  "I  will  stay  with 
you,  darling,"  she  said,  drawing  him  toward 
her.  "  And  when  you  are  all  nice  and  snug 
in  your  little  bed  I  will  tell  you  a  story,  or 
sing  you  some  pretty  hymn." 

The  tears  of  childhood  are  quickly  dried, 
and  he  was  soon  laughing  and  chatting 
merrily  with  his  new-found  friend. 

"  You  have  not  said  your  prayers,  Ernest," 
said  Ruth,  as  attired  in  his  night-dress  he 
turned  to  the  bed,  which  stood  in  one  corner. 

"My  prayers?"  echoed  the  boy,  with  a 
puzzled  air. 

"  Yes ;  don't  you  know  what  that  mean^  ? 
Did  you  never  hear  any  one  pray  ?" 

"  O  yes ;  but  I  thought  that  no  one  but 
ministers  and  Irish  girls  prayed.  Bridget 
prays  to  some  one  she  calls  the  virgin  Mary, 
counting  over  a  long  string  of  beads.  And 
I  remember,  when  little  Cousin  Eddie  died, 


14  EBNEST  RICHMOJSTD 

that  a  man  they  called  a  minister  prayed  at 
the  funeral.  Papa  was  very  angry  with 
mamma  for  taking  me  there ;  he  said  it  was 
all  nonsense,  and  foolish  mummery." 

Ruth  asked  him  a  number  of  questions, 
and  was  astonished  and  shocked  at  his  igno- 
rance. 

"  Ernest,"  she  said,  "  did  you  never  hear 
about  God,  the  good  God  who  made  you, 
and  gave  you  so  many  beautiful  and  pleasant 
things  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  papa  talk  about  him. 
But  I  didn't  know  that  he  was  good ;  I 
thought  he  was  some  bad,  ugly  creature." 

"  Why,  Ernest,  what  made  you  think  so  ?" 

"  O,  because  papa  never  speaks  of  him  un- 
less something  don't  suit  him,  and  he  flies 
into  a  passion.  And  one  day  I  asked  him 
who  God  was,  and  he  said  that  he  was 
nothing  but  a  bugbear,  to  frighten  women 
and  children  with.  A  bugbear  is  something 
\\^cked,  isn't  it?" 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Ruth,  deeply  pained 
and  shocked  to  hear  such  language  from  the 
guileless  lips  of  a  child,  "  your  father  does  not 
know  God,  or  he  would  not  speak  of  him 
thus.  He  made  you,  and  me,  and  every 
creature   that  moves   and  breathes.    If  it 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  15 

were  not  for  his  kind  care  we  could  not  any 
of  us  live  for  a  moment.  It  is  an  awful 
thing  for  any  of  his  creatures  to  take  his 
holy  name  thoughtlessly  or  angrily  upon 
their  lips." 

"Did  you  ever  see  Godi"  inquired  the 
boy,  after  a  thoughtful  pause. 

"  No,  Ex-nest.  God  does  not  live  on  the 
earth ;  he  lives  in  heaven." 

"  Where  is  heaven  ?" 

,"  Heaven  is  somewhere  in  the  sky.  We 
do  not  know  exactly  where;  but  this  we 
know,  that  it  is  a  very  beautiful  place." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  there  ]" 

"  No,  Ernest ;  but  I  hope  to  go  there  some 
day." 

"  Then  if  you  never  was  in  heaven,  how 
do  you  know  that  it  is  so  beautiful?"  in- 
quired Ernest,  fixing  his  eyes  triumphantly 
upon  hers.  "And  if  you  have  never  seen 
God,  how  do  you  know  that  he  is  so  very 
good,  after  all?" 

Ruth  paused  for  a  moment.  "Ernest," 
she  said  at  last,  "you  told  me  the  other 
day  that  you  thought  your  Uncle  Charles, 
whom  you  have  never  seen,  to  be  a  very 
good  man.  How  do  you  know  that  he  is 
good  ■?" 


16  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"  O,"  exclaimed  the  boy  eagerly,  "  because 
he  sends  me  so  many  nice  presents.  Every 
time  that  papa  goes  to  Xew  York  he  sends 
me  some  pretty  thing  or  other.  Only  last 
week  he  sent  me  a  rocking-horse,  such  a 
beauty !     You  ought  to  see  him." 

"My  child,"  said  Ruth,  laying  lier  hand 
upon  his  head,  "  the  good  God,  of  whom  I 
have  been  telling  you,  has  done  more  for 
you  than  this.  He  not  only  gave  you  all 
that  you  eat  and  wear — the  bright  sky,  the 
green  trees,  and  the  beautiful  flowers — but  all 
the  friends  who  are  so  kind  to  you.  And  as 
to  heaven  being  a  beautiful  place,  we  know 
that  it  is,  because  God  has  told  us  so  in  his 
book." 

"What  book?" 

"  It  is  a  book,  Ernest,  which  tells  us  about 
God ;  which  teaches  us  all  that  he  wants  us 
to  do  while  we  live  on  the  earth,  and  how 
we  can  be  made  fit  to  go,  when  we  die,  to 
that  beautiful  place  called  heaven,  and  live 
with  him  forever." 

Ernest  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then 
throwing  his  arms  around  Ruth's  neck,  he 
exclaimed,  "  O,  Miss  Sidney,  I  wish  I  could 
read  that  book !  K  you  have  it,  wont  you 
lend  it  to  me  ?    I  will  be  very  careful  of  it." 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  IT 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  Ruth,  kissing  him, 
"  nothing  will  give  me  greater  pleasure.  It 
you  will  come  into  my  room  to-morrow  I 
will  read  it  to  you.  But  it  is  growing  late. 
I  will  now  siflg  you  a  little  hymn,  and  then 
you  must  shut  your  eyes  and  go  right  to 
sleep." 

She  then  sang  one  of  "Watts's  hymns  for 
children. 

The  last  concluding  line  had  scarcely  died 
upon  the  air,  when  his  quiet  and  measured 
breathing  showed  that  he  was  sweetly  sleep- 
ing. 

Ruth  arose,  and  brushing  back  the  curls 
that  partially  shaded  his  forehead,  gazed 
thoughtfully  upon  him.  There  lay  the  son 
of  an  infidel  father  and  a  gay  and  fashion- 
able mother ;  a  little  heathen,  in  the  midst 
of  a  Christian  community,  scarcely  conscious 
of  the  existence  of  a  God!  Though  evi- 
dently of  a  frail  and  delicate  constitution, 
left  by  his  unnatural  mother  to  the  mercy  of 
ignorant  hirelings.  And  far  worse  than  that, 
his  young  and  tender  mind  jDoisoned  by  the 
example  and  teachings  of  a  godless  father. 

"  Has  not  God  given  me  a  work  to  do 
here  ?"  she  thought.  "  It  is  but  a  child,  to 
be  sure ;  yet  would  it  not  be  a  joy  untold, 


18  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

well  worth  the  toil  of  a  lifetime,  to  gather 
one  such  lamb  as  this  into  the  fold  of  Christ  ? 
To  turn  his  feet  into  the  right  path ;  to  im- 
press upon  his  little  heart  the  knowledge 
and  the  fear  of  God,  that  knowing  him,  he 
might  love  him,  and  loving  him,  he  might 
dedicate  his  life  to  his  service  ?" 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  19 


CHAPTER  n. 

ERNEST  AND  THE  WONDERFUL  BOOK. 

The  next  morning  was  the  Sabbath, 
and  as  Ruth  was  seated  in  her  room  she  heard 
a  low  and  gentle  tap  at  the  door.  Upon 
opening  it  she  met  the  smiling  face  of  Ernest. 

"I  could  hardly  wait  to  eat  my  break- 
fast," he  exclaimed,  "  I  wanted  so  much  to 
see  that  wonderful  book  you  told  me  about 
last  night." 

Ruth  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
and  drawing  aside  a  green  curtain,  which 
hung  in  front  of  a  quaint,  old-fashioned 
bookcase,  took  from  one  of  the  shelves  a 
large  pictorial  Bible,  and  laid  it  reverently 
upon  the  table  before  him. 

Ernest  looked  upon  it  with  an  expression 
of  mingled  curiosity  and  awe.  "Did  God 
bring  it  to  you  1"  he  inquired,  as  he  turned 
the  leaves  over  carefully. 

"  No,  Ernest ;  no  one  has  ever  seen  God. 

He  put  it  into  the  hearts  of  wise  and  good 

men  to  write  it.     At  first  there   was  only 

one  copy ;  but  now  there  are  a  great  many. 

2 


20  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

I  told  you  last  night,  Ernest,"  continued 
Ruth,  drawing  the  child  nearer  to  her,  and 
fixing  her  eyes  seriously  upon  his  counte- 
nance, "  that  it  was  God  who  gave  you  every 
earthly  blessing  that  you  possess  ;  but  he  has 
done  more  for  you  than  this ;  he  has  given 
for  your  sake  his  beloved  and  only  Son. 
And  now  if  you  will  listen  to  me  I  will  tell 
you  about  it." 

She  then  proceeded,  in  language  suited  to 
his  childish  comprehension,  to  give  him  an 
account  of  the  creation  of  the  world,  and  the 
means  by  which  sin  entered  it.  She  then 
told  him  of  the  birth  of  the  child  Jesus, 
Avhose  advent  had  been  so  long  foretold : 
his  blameless  life,  his  holy  precepts,  and  his 
RufTerings  and  shameful  death. 

It  would  have  been  well  worth  the  study 
of  an  artist  to  have  watched  the  varying  ex- 
pression of  that  sweet,  thoughtful  face  as 
Ernest  drank  in  eagerly  eveiy  word  that  she 
littered;  to  have  looked  upon  those  flushed 
cheeks,  those  parted  lips,  and  the  large  blue 
eyes,  which  were  fixed  earnestly  upon  those 
of  his  youthful  teacher,  and  which  shadowed 
forth  so  distinctly  and  clearly  every  emotion 
of  his  soul. 

And  when  she  came  to  where  the  Saviour 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  21 

bowed  his  head  upon  the  cross,  and  crying 
with  a  loud  voice,  said,  "  It  is  finished  !"  his 
breast  heaved,  his  lips  quivered,  and,  bury- 
ing his  face  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  he  burst 
into  tears,  sobbing  so  violently  as  to  alarm 
Ruth,  who,  taking  him  up  in  her  lap,  en- 
deavored to  soothe  him. 

She  quickly  changed  the  subject,  telling 
him  how  Christ  arose  from  the  dead,  as- 
cending into  heaven  to  prepare  a  place  for 
those  who  love  and  serve  him,  and  to  inter- 
cede with  his  Father  for  us. 

Ernest  Richmond's  total  ignorance  of 
points  with  which  most  children  are  famil- 
iarly acquainted,  at  the  first  glance,  seems 
almost  incredible.  But  it  will  be  readily- 
accounted  for  when  we  reflect  that  his  father 
was  an  infidel,  a  bitter  opponent  of  religion 
in  every  form.  He  was  one  of  the  most 
active  members  of  a  club,  then  in  the  zenith 
of  its  glory,  in  the  place  where  he  lived, 
which  met  once  a  week  for  the  purpose  of 
ridiculing  everything  "  pure,  lovely,  and  of 
good  report,"  and  reading  an  impious  sheet 
called  the  "  Regenerator,"  now,  thank  God ! 
gone  into  the  oblivion  which  it  deserves. 

Mr.  Richmond  was  extremely  proud  of 
the  unusual  intelligence  that  Ernest  evinced, 


22  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

and  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  he 
would  be  an  active  exponent  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  which  he  was,  himself,  such  a  zeal- 
ous advocate.  To  use  his  own  words,  he 
was  resolved  that  no  child  of  his  should 
have  his  mind  cramped  and  fettered  by  the 
cant  and  bigotry  of  "  priestcraft,"  by  which 
term  he  characterized  everything  that  par- 
took, in  the  slightest  degree,  of  that  holy 
faith,  for  the  establishment  of  which 

"  The  son  of  God  bowed  to  be  crucified." 

In  order  to  secure  this,  he  carefully  se- 
cluded him  from  every  place  and  person 
likely  to  give  him  any  idea  of  the  existence 
or  character  of  God,  determining,  in  his 
own  mind,  that  as  soon  as  his  son  arrived  at 
a  suitable  age  he  would  initiate  him  into 
what  he  termed  "  the  religion  of  nature  and 
of  reason." 

But  God's  thoughts  are  not  our  thoughts, 
nor  his  ways  our  ways.  He  who  chooses  so 
often  the  weak  things  of  the  earth  to  confound 
the  mighty,  had  chosen  a  young,  inexperienced 
girl  by  whom  to  bring  to  naught  his  wisest 
and  shrewdest  calculations. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  23 


CHAPTER  m. 

THE  FASHIONABLE  MOTHER. 

Ruth  Siditoy  had  taken  but  few  steps  in 
the  Christian's  pathway,  yet  was  her  heart 
overflowing  with  love  for  her  divine  Master 
and  his  holy  cause. 

Early  deprived  of  the  guardianship  of  a 
father,  and  with  few  to  love,  or  to  love  her, 
the  feelings  of  her  warm  and  sympathizing 
nature  were  strongly  enlisted  in  behalf  of  the 
afiectionate  and  intelligent  boy,  who  in  the 
very  hearing  of  the  "  church-going  bells,"  in 
the  land  of  Bibles  and  the  Sabbath  school, 
which  gathers  together,  weekly,  so  many  ot 
Chi-ist's  little  ones,  was  Avithout  knowledge 
of  the  God  who  made  him,  and  the  Saviour 
who  died  to  redeem  him. 

The  weakness  of  a  naturally  delicate  or- 
ganization, aggravated  by  the  want  of  proper 
care,  was  even  then  developing  the  seeds  of 
a  fatal  disease,  and  the  caresses  and  sooth- 
ing attentions  bestowed  upon  him  by  Ruth, 
so  different  from  the  careless,  and  often 
begrudged  services  of  the  hirelings  to  whose 


24  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

tender  mercies  he  had  been  left  from  his  in- 
fancy, were  peculiarly  grateful  to  him. 

As  they  became  better  acquainted,  they 
spent  together  neai-ly  all  of  the  leisure  time 
that  Ruth  could  spare  from  the  duties  of  her 
school ;  sometimes  in  her  own  rooms,  which 
were  in  another  part  of  the  building,  and 
sometimes  in  the  one  set  apart  for  Ernest. 

This  room  was  very  beautifully  furnished. 
The  soft,  thick  carpet  was  like  velvet  to  the 
foot.  The  snowy  counterpane,  which  covered 
his  bed,  was  heavy  with  embroidery  of  a 
rich  and  fanciful  design.  Its  downy  pillows 
were  covered  with  the  finest  and  whitest 
linen ;  and  the  curtains,  which  floated  like  a 
soft,  fleecy  cloud  around  it,  were  looped  up 
by  clusters  of  roses  carved  in  ivory,  instinct 
with  grace  and  beauty. 

If  any  of  the  children  who  may,  perhaps, 
read  this  book  could  have  looked  into  this 
pleasant  room,  and  seen  the  beautiful  pictures 
that  hung  upon  its  walls,  ^nd  the  rare  and 
costly  toys  scattered  profusely  around,  they 
would  doubtless  have  thought  that  Ernest 
must  be  a  very  happy  boy,  and  perhaps  have 
envied  him.  Yet  had  he  spent  there  many 
a  lonely  and  unhappy  hour.  Upon  that  soft, 
inviting  couch  he  had  tossed  through  many 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  25 

a  night  of  suffering,  vainly  yearning  to  look 
upon  the  face  of  his  mother,  who  was  in  the 
midst  of  some  scene  of  festive  pleasure,  un- 
mindful of  the  holiest  of  all  human  obliga- 
tions; unthought  of  and  uncared  for  by 
all,  save  the  menials,  whose  ungentle  move- 
ments and  loud  voices  jarred  harshly  upon 
his  sensitive  nerves. 

It  cannot  be  thought  strange  by  the 
reader,  that  the  heart  of  this  neglected  child 
turned  gratefully  to  her  whose  hand  nightly 
smoothed  his  pillow,  and  which  rested  so 
often  and  so  lovingly  upon  his  burning  tem- 
ples; who  taught  him  the  first  prayer  his 
lips  ever  uttered,  and  whose  harshest  re- 
proofs were  full  of  love  and  tenderness. 

As  we  have  before  implied,  Mrs,  Rich- 
mond was  a  gay  and  fashionable  woman, 
whose  life  was  spent  in  one  unceasing  whirl 
of  dissipation. 

She  had  some  natural  fondness  for  her 
child,  and  was  very  proud  of  having  him 
brought  in  when  she  had  company,  that  his 
exceeding  beauty  might  receive  its  iisual 
tribute  of  admiration ;  but  the  deep  tide  of 
maternal  tenderness,  which  swells  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Christian  mother,  was  unknown 
to  her  light  and  frivolous  heart.     Her  morn- 


26  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

ings  were  generally  spent  in  sleep,  and  she 
was  rarely  at  home  of  an  evening,  excepting 
when  she  had  company.  And  as  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's business  called  him  a  great  deal 
from  home,  being  often  absent  for  weeks  at  a 
time,  Ernest  was  left  almost  entirely  to  the 
care  of  servants,  who  often  cruelly  neglected 
him. 

Ernest's  constitution  was  delicate,  and  he 
was  subject  to  frequent  ill  turns,  which  some- 
times alarmed  Ruth,  though  she  hoped  that 
he  would  eventually  outgrow  them. 

At  one  of  these  times  Mrs.  Richmond 
came  into  his  room,  as  was  sometimes  her 
wont,  to  give  him  a  hasty  kiss,  or  to  inquire 
in  regard  to  his  welfare.  She  was  dressed 
for  an  evening  party,  and  her  rich  bloom 
and  gorgeous  attire  contrasted  painfully  with 
the  pale  cheek  of  the  little  invalid,  whose 
eyes  were  fixed  wistfully  upon  her. 

Ruth  was  present,  and  ventured  to  draw 
her  attention  to  his  quick  breath  and  fever- 
ish appearance,  and  to  suggest  the  necessity 
of  some  medical  treatment. 

Mrs.  Richmond  laid  her  jeweled  lingers 
upon  the  temples  of  Ernest,  and  was  evi- 
dently startled  by  their  rapid  pulsation. 
"  He  seems  indeed  to  be  ill,"  she  said  ;  "  and 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  27 

must  have  a  physician  at  once.  I  would 
stay  "with  him  myself,"  she  added,  after  a 
pause,  "but  I  have  an  engagement  this 
evening.  Besides,  I  could  do  no  good  if  I  re- 
mained ;  I  should  be  only  in  the  way.  You 
are  so  much  more  used  to  him  than  I  am. 
I  presume,  after  all,  it  is  nothing  but  some 
little  childish  ailment,  and  that  he  will  be 
quite  well  in  the  morning." 

There  might  have  been  something  of  the 
pain  and  surprise  in  Ruth's  heart  visible  in 
her  eyes  as  she  heard  this,  for  Mrs.  Rich- 
mond looked  slightly  confused,  and  still 
lingered,  as  though  she  had  something  fur- 
ther to  say.  "  I  am  sure.  Miss  Sidney,"  she 
said,  at  last,  "I  am  very  much  obliged  to 
you  for  the  care  you  have  taken  of  my  little 
boy.  I  wish  that  I  could  repay  you.  If 
})ecuniary  remuneration — "  Here  she  hesi- 
tated as  if  she  feared  to  offend. 

Ruth's  cheeks  flushed,  and  for  a  moment 
she  remained  silent.  Then  she  took  the  lit- 
tle feverish  hand,  which  lay  upon  the  coun- 
terpane, and  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  saying, 
as  she  did  so,  "For  all  the  trouble  I  have 
taken,  madam,  the  love  and  companionship 
of  this  dear  child  have  more  than  repaid 
me." 


28  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

To  a  heart  less  frivolous  than  Mrs.  Rich- 
mond's, there  could  not  have  been  a  keener 
reproach  than  these  simple  words,  together 
with  the  look  of  love  that  accompanied 
them,  so  vividly  in  contrast  to  the  heartless 
indifference  of  her,  upon  whom  the  boy  had 
a  so  much  stronger  claim.  She  might  have 
felt  it  to  some  extent,  for  murmuring  a  few 
indistinct  words  of  thanks,  she  hastily  left 
the  room,  saying,  as  she  did  so,  "  That  she 
would  send  Thomas  at  once  for  Dr.  Man- 
ning." 

This  physician  visited  Ernest,  daily,  for 
nearly  a  week ;  and  under  his  skillful  care, 
he  regained  the  appearance  of  his  former 
health,  though  Ruth's  watchful  eye  could 
discover  a  weakness  and  languor  not  visible 
before. 

Dr.  Manning  was  a  kind-hearted  and  wor- 
thy man,  as  well  as  a  skillful  physician; 
possessing  a  social  and  genial  temperament. 
He  had  become  much  interested  in  liis  little 
patient  and  his  youthful  nurse,  whom  he 
playfully  termed  "  his  little  mother." 

This  endearing  title  pleased  Ernest,  and 
by  that  name  he  often  afterward  called  her, 
as  if  to  distinguish  her  from  his  own  mother, 
who,  though  she  still  retained  traces  of  the 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  29 

more  than  common  beauty  which  had  dis- 
tinguished her  in  her  youth,  had  grown 
large  and  fleshy  with  increasing  years. 

My  little  mother !  If  the  eye  of  her  M'ho 
bore  that  holy  title  should  fall  upon  these 
lines,  how  many  tender  recollections  will  it 
awaken  in  her  heart  of  the  blue  eyed,  golden 
haired  boy,  whose  home  is  with  the  angels  ? 
No  little  head  may  rest  upon  thy  bosom, 
stirring  in  thy  heart  the  deep  fount  of  mater- 
nal tenderness,  yet  thou  hast  not  been,  thou 
never  canst  be  childless  ! 


30  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  rV. 

THE   SOLEMN  QUESTION,    AND  ITS 
ANSWER. 

Ruth  had  noticed  with  pleasure  the  daily 
increasing  interest  that  Ernest  evinced  in 
divine  things,  but  she  did  not  dream  how 
deep  the  work  was  that  was  going  on  in 
that  little  heart;  though  the  strange  ques- 
tions that  he  would  sometimes  ask,  so  far 
beyond  his  years,  often  startled  her. 

"  Little  mother,"  he  said  to  her  one  night, 
"you  often  tell  me  that  you  hope,  when  I 
am  a  man,  that  I  shall  be  a  Christian.  Why 
can't  I  be  a  Christian  noio?  Am  I  too 
young  ?" 

"  No,  Ernest,  you  are  not  too  young  to  be 
a  Christian." 

"  Nor  too  young  to  die  ?"  he  said  thought- 
fiilly. 

"  Nor  too  young  to  die,  Ernest." 

Ernest  closed  his  eyes  and  remained  silent, 
and  Ruth,  thinking  that  he  was  sleeping, 
was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  he  sud- 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  31 

denly  exclaimed,  "Ruthy,  what  is  it  to  be  a 
Christian?" 

This  was  a  solemn  question,  and  Ruth  felt 
It  to  be  such.  Something  like  self-reproach 
touched  her  heart;  for  while  she  had  con- 
versed much  with  him  on  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion, in  a  general  sense,  she  had  said  lit- 
tle to  him  about  Christ,  as  the  Saviour  of 
his  own  soul,  thinking  that  he  was,  as  yet, 
too  young  to  imderstand  fully  the  great  doc- 
trine of  the  atonement,  forgetting,  in  her 
worldly  wisdom  that  God  often  reveals  unto 
babes  what  he  hides  from  the  wise  and 
prudent. 

She  tried  by  simple  words,  suited  to  his 
childish  capacity,  to  make  him  understand  the 
nature  of  sin,  and  the  necessity  of  a  change 
of  heart,  directing  him  to  the  Saviour, 
whose  pardoning  and  sustaining  grace  could 
alone  make  him  a  Christian. 

She  was  sui'prised,  as  she  proceeded,  at  the 
ease  and  readiness  with  which  he  compre- 
hended her,  and  the  true  and  just  conclu- 
sions at  which  he  arrived,  almost  without  an 
effort.  But  finding  after  she  had  concluded 
that  he  was  thoughtful,  and  disinclined  to 
converse,  she  quietly  left  the  room,  leaving 
him  to  his  own  reflections. 


32  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

■  One  night,  a  night  never  to  be  forgotten 
by  her,  Ruth  was  aroused  from  the  slumber 
into  which  she  had  just  fallen  by  a  half  sob 
at  her  bedside.  Upon  opening  her  eyes  she 
saw  Ernest  standing  by  her  side,  his  little 
bare  feet  peeping  out  from  beneath  his 
snowy  night-dress,  the  soft  rays  of  the  moon 
which  fell  over  him  giving  his  pale  face  a 
strange,  unearthly  aspect. 

"  It  is  only  me,  little  mother,"  he  said,  in 
a  voice  so  sad  and  plaintive  that  it  touched 
the  heart  of  the  listener. 

"  Ernest,  my  dear  boy,  are  you  sick  ?"  in- 
quired Ruth  anxiously,  taking  him  up  in  her 
arms. 

Ernest  hid  his  face  in  her  bosom,  and  sob- 
bed convulsively  for  some  minutes. 

"  I  am  not  sick,"  he  said,  at  last,  in  reply 
to  her  repeated  inquiries;  "but  I  am  such 
a  bad  boy  that  I  can't  sleep." 

Ruth  supposed  that  it  was  some  fault 
committed  during  the  day,  which  troubled  a 
conscience  growing  daily  more  tender  and 
si^sceptible,  but  was  surprised  to  find,  upon 
further  inquiry,  that  it  was  a  general  sense 
of  sin  that  oppressed  that  young  heart  with 
such  bitter  sufiering. 

"  Can't  you  do  something  for  me  ?"  he  in- 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  33 

quired,  as  Ruth,  too  much  affected  to  speak, 
made  no  reply. 

Ruth  arose,  and  throwing  on  a  dressing- 
gown,  took  a  low  seat  by  the  window; 
then,  taking  him  up  in  her  arms,  pressed  his 
tearful  cheek  to  hers. 

"  Ernest,"  she  said  softly,  "  listen  to  me. 
I  cannot  help  you,  there  is  only  one  who  can, 
the  dear  Saviour  who  died  for  you.  Can 
you  not  go  to  him,  Ernest  ?" 

"  You  have  told  me  a  great  many  times 
that  he  don't  love  bad  boys,  and  I  am  such 
a  bad  boy,"  was  the  reply. 

"But  I  have  told  you,  also,  Ernest,  how 
much  Jesus  loves  little  children.  How  when 
he  was  here  on  earth  he  took  them  in  his 
arms  and  blessed  them." 

"I  know,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head 
mournfully;  "but  I  can't  think  they  were 
such  wicked  boys  as  me." 

Ruth  paused  a  moment,  in  order  to 
collect  her  tjioughts.  Then  placing  her  hand 
upon  his  head,  she  turned  his  averted  face 
toward  hers  and  said,  "Look  at  me,  Ernest; 
don't  you  think  that  /  love  you,  my  child  1" 

"I  know  that  you  love  me,  little  moth- 
er," he  said,  throwing  his  arms  around  her 
neck. 


84  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"Supposing,  Ernest,  that  you  had  com- 
mitted some  serious  fault  which  had  dis- 
pleased me  very  much,  and  you  should  come 
in  tears  to  tell  me  how  sorry  you  were,  do 
you  think  I  would  refuse  to  listen  to  you  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  would  not,  Ruthy." 

"  And  yet  the  dear  Saviour  loves  you,  O 
how  much !  more  tenderly  than  I  can  love 
you,  Ernest.  He  is  more  willing  to  receive 
you  than  you  are  to  go  to  Him,  more  will- 
ing to  forgive  you  than  you  are  to  be  for- 
given. Go  to  him,  my  child,  and  he  will 
take  you  in  his  arms  and  bless  you,  just  as 
lie  did  the  little  children  of  old.  He  will  be 
your  guide  and  protector  so  long  as  life  shall 
last,  and  when  that  ends  he  will  take  you  to 
himself  to  dwell  with  him  forever." 

Ernest  raised  his  tearful  face  from  the 
loving  embrace  to  which  she  had  folded  him. 
"  I  don't  like  to  go  alone,  Ruthy,"  he  said 
timidly,  "I  don't  know  what  to  say  to 
him." 

There  was  no  response  in  words  to  this 
toijphing  appeal ;  there  was  no  need  of  it. 
Ruth  arose  from  her  seat,  and  sank  down 
upon  her  knees,  throwing  her  arm  as  she 
did  so  around  Ernest,  who  nestled  close  to 
her  side. 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  35 

There  was  no'  strain  of  studied  eloquence 
in  the  simple  words  that  arose  from  her 
lips,  yet  there  was  not  a  sound,  not  the 
faintest  sigh,  but  what  found  its  way  to  the 
ear  of  the  Eternal. 

There  was  great  joy  in  heaven  at  the  glad 
tidings  of  the  soul  that  was  born  that  night 
into  the  kingdom  of  God. 

Before  Ruth  had  concluded,  Eraest's  hand 
had  relaxed  its  convulsive  grasp  upon  her 
dress,  while  his  head  rested  heavily  upon  her 
arm;  and  glancing  down  upon  him,  she 
noticed  that  his  eyes  were  closed. 

"  Are  you  asleep,  Ernest  1"  she  said. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  lifting  his  eyes  to  hers ; 
"  but  I  am,  O,  so  very  happy !" 

"Happy,  Ernest  1"  repeated  Ruth,  sur- 
prised by  the  sudden  change  in  the  counte- 
nance, a  few  moments  before  expressive  of 
so  much  suffering. 

"  Yes,  Ruthy,  the  pain  is  all  gone  now." 

"  Gone  from  where,  Ernest  ?" 

"  From  here,"  he  replied,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  heart. 

The  pale  rays  of  the  moon  that  came  in 

from  the  open  window  fell  softly  upon  the 

uplifted  face  of  the  kneeling  boy,  resting  like 

a  halo  upon  the  golden  curls  that  clustered 

3 


36  EKNEST  RICHMOND 

around  the  white  forehead",  and  giving  his 
whole  countenance  a  look  of  more  than  mor- 
tal beauty. 

Ruth  gazed  in  silence  upon  him  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  resuming  her  seat  took 
him  again  in  her  arms. 

"  And  so  you  are  very  happy,  Ernest  ?"  she 
said,  pressing  his  cheek  fondly  to  her  own. 

"Very  happy,"  he  replied,  in  a  half 
dreamy,  unconscious  tone,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  intently  upon  the  starry  heavens,  as 
though  he  saw  something  there  which  she 
could  not  see. 

"  And  you  feel  that  your  sins  have  all  been 
forgiven  you  ?" 

"  Have  all  been  forgiven  me,"  he  repeated 
in  the  same  tone  and  manner. 

Ruth  said  no  more,  unwilling  to  disturb 
the  holy  serenity  which  seemed  to  have 
taken  possession  of  his  soul,  but  held  him 
quietly  in  her  arms  imtil  he  fell  asleep.  She 
then  arose  and  laid  him  upon  her  own 
bed. 

Then  kneeling  down  by  the  bedside,  very 
earnestly  did  her  heart  ascend  in  prayer  to 
God,  that  this  might  be  no  fleeting  enthusi- 
asm of  the  moment,  but  the  strong  faith,  the 
deep,  abiding  principle  which  would  actuate 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  37 

his  whole  after  life.  That  he  might  be  one 
of  those  whose  glad  office  it  is  to  turn  many 
into  the  paths  of  righteousness,  destined  to 
shine  as  the  stars  of  heaven  forever. 


38  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  V. 

ERNEST  AND  HIS  FRIEND  TOMMY 

The  careless  observer  would  have  noticed 
no  material  alteration  in  Ernest's  usual  man- 
ner ;  but  to  Ruth's  eye,  who  looked  deeper, 
and  to  whose  sympathizing  heart  his  every 
thought  was  unfolded,  there  was  a  wondrous 
change. 

.  Though  possessing  naturally  a  very  love- 
able  and  afiectionate  disposition,  Ernest  had 
some  faults  in  his  character  which  had  oc- 
casioned Ruth  no  little  uneasiness.  An 
only  child,  indulged  by  his  father  in  every 
idle  whim,  he  was  somewhat  inclined  to  be 
willful  and  perverse,  while  his  frequent  sea- 
sons of  physical  weakness  and  suffering  dis- 
posed him  to  be  irritable  and  impatient  of 
contradiction.  She  had  observed,  also,  an 
inclination  on  his  part  to  evade  the  truth,  if 
not  to  actual  deception ;  owing,  no  doubt,  to 
the  evil  example  of  the  servants,  who  had 
had  the  principal  care  of  him. 

It  was  beautiful  to  notice  how  earnestly 
and  successfully  he  resisted  these  easily  be- 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  89 

setting  sins,  and  how  kind  and  pleasant  he 
grew  to  all  around  him.  The  servants  no- 
ticed itj  and  wondered  at  the  change ;  and 
even  his  mother,  as  she  swept  through  the 
nursery,  in  her  costly  robes,  to  make  some 
hurried  inquiry  in  regard  to  his  health,  find 
met  the  pleasant  glance  of  those  softly  smil- 
ing eyes,  patted  his  cheek,  calling  him  "her 
little  patient  boy,"  and  saying  how  much 
she  envied  him  his  cheerful  and  happy  dis- 
position. 

Mrs.  Richmond  was  surprised  at  the 
change,  so  suddenly  brought  about  in  Ern- 
est, whose  impatient  complaints  of  her  con- 
tinual absence  often  annoyed  and  irritated 
her;  yet  was  she  entirely  ignorant  of  its 
cause,  ascribing  it  to  the  influence  that  Ruth 
exerted  over  him.  She,  therefore,  encour- 
aged her  intimacy  with  Ernest ;  as  it  not 
only  relieved  her  from  all  care  in  reference 
to  him,  but  silenced  the  reproaches  that 
would  sometimes  sting  her  heart,  even  in 
her  hours  of  gayest  mirth,  as  there  passed 
before  her  mental  vision  the  pale  face  of  her 
neglected  child. 

As  it  was  a  part  of  Mr.  Richmond's  policy 
to  keep  his  son  apart  from  all  companionship 
with  the  neighboring  children,  Eniest  had 


40  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

no  playmates,  with  the  exception  of  a  lad  by 
the  name  of  Thomas  Conway.  Thomas  was 
two  years  older  than  Ernest,  and  one  would 
suppose,  by  looking  at  them,  that  there  could 
not  be  a  great  deal  of  similarity  in  their 
tastes  and  feeling.  Yet  they  both  manifested 
considerable  affection  for  each  other;  and 
Thomas  used  often  to  come  into  the 
large,  old-fashioned  garden  to  play  with 
Ernest. 

Thomas's  parents  were  both  intemperate, 
and  his  habits  and  manners  were  such  as  to 
render  him  a  not  very  desirable  companion 
for  Ernest;  but  as  Mrs.  Richmond  was 
aware  of  their  intimacy,  and  she  noticed 
nothing  particularly  out  of  the  way  in  him, 
Ruth  did  not  like  to  take  the  responsibility 
of  forbidding  him  to  come,  though  she  en- 
deavored to  keep  them  apart  as  much  as 
possible. 

One  morning,  as  Ruth  was  sitting  by  the 
window  sewing,  she  saw  Thomas  strike  Ern- 
est and  push  him  down. 

She  immediately  threw  down  her  work, 
ai*d  ran  out  into  the  garden  where  the 
two  boys  were  standing.  "  What  is  the 
trouble?"  she  said  to  Ernest,  Avho,  unmind- 
ful of  her   approach,  stood   regarding  his 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  41 

companion  with  a  look  of  sorrowful  re- 
proach. 

"  Tommy  struck  me  and  pushed  me  down, 
because  I  wouldn't  let  him  pick  those  pur- 
ple flowers,  that  mamma  has  forbidden  me 
even  to  touch,"  he  replied,  pointing  to  a 
costly  plant  that  Mrs.  Richmond  valued 
very  highlj'. 

"I  didn't,  nuther!"  returned  Thomas 
boldly,  unconscious  that  Ruth  had  seen  him 
from  the  window,  "  I  haint  touched  him ! 
He  fell  down  hisself " 

"Thomas,"  said  Ruth,  looking  him  stead- 
ily in  the  eye,  "  you  have  been  a  very  bad 
boy.  You  have  not  only  been  unkind  and 
rude  to  Ernest,  but  have  told  a  lie  to  hide  it. 
You  must  not  come  into  the  garden  any 
more  to  play  with  Ernest." 

Then  taking  Ernest  by  the  hand,  she  led 
him  into  the  house. 

"O  what  a  wicked  boy  Tommy  is,"  he 
exclaimed,  as  Ruth  resumed  her  seat  by 
the  window,  "to  tell  such  a  wrong  story!" 

Ruth  felt  that  this  was  a  favorable  oppor- 
tunity for  impressing  upon  his  heart  a  use- 
ful lesson.  So  she  laid  down  her  work  and 
drawing  him  to  her  side,  told  him  something 
of  Tommy's  history.     She  spoke  of  the  im- 


42  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

kindness  of  his  mother,  the  blows  and  curses 
that  he  received  from  the  hands  of  his  drunk- 
en father.  When  inclined  to  do  well,  how 
few  there  were  to  speak  a  kind,  encouraging' 
"word  to  him,  or  to  raise  a  warning  voice 
when  his  feet  were  turning  the  downward 
way.  She  contrasted  his  pleasant  home, 
where  he  was  surrounded  with  every  com- 
fort, with  the  dreaiy  and  cheerless  abode  in 
which  Tommy  lived,  which  she  had  once 
visited  on  some  errand  of  mercy. 

"My  dear  boy,"  she  said,  in  conclusion, 
laying  her  hand  upon  Ernest's  head,  who 
was  sitting  upon  a  stool  at  her  feet,  "  don't 
you  think  that  you  ought  to  be  very  grateful 
to  God,  Avho  has  given  you  so  many  blessings, 
and  forgive  and  pity  this  poor,  neglected 
child,  to  whom  he  has  given  so  few  ?" 

As  Ruth  proceeded,  the  look  of  indigna- 
tion upon  Ernest's  countenance  changed  to 
one  of  pity.  And  when  she  had  concluded, 
he  exclaimed, 

"  O  Ruthy,  I  am  a  much  more  wicked  boy 
than  poor  Tommy  is !  God  has  a  great  deal 
more  reason  to  be  angry  with  me  than  Avith 
him.  And  I  have  been  so  proud  and  thought 
myself  so  good.  But  can't  something  be  done 
for  Tommy  ?   Wont  you  talk  with  him,  little 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  43 

mother,  and  tell  him  how  wrong  it  is  for 
him  to  do  so,  just  as  you  talk  with  me?" 

"  There  has  been  something  done  for  him, 
Ernest,  Only  a  short  time  since  a  kind  lady 
clothed  him  neatly,  and  took  him  into  the 
fcjabbath-school.  Yet  before  the  following 
week  was  out  his  father  had  taken  from  him 
every  article  and  sold  them  for  rum.  So  it 
seems  to  be  of  little  use." 

Ernest  said  no  more,  but  throughout  the 
day  appeared  unusually  silent  and  thoughtful. 

When  night  came,  he  kneeled  down  and 
repeated  his  usual  prayer.  Then  after  pray- 
ing, as  was  his  wont,  for  papa  and  mamma, 
and  his  little  mother,  he  concluded  with 
these  words:  "O  Lord,  wilt  thou  forgive 
and  bless  the  little  boy  who  struck  me  and 
told  a  lie?" 

The  fervor  and  childish  simplicity  with 
which  this  was  said  strongly  affected  Ruth. 
She  made  no  comments,  however,  yet  as  she 
bent  over  him  to  give  him  the  good-night 
kiss,  a  feeling  akin  to  reverence  stole  over 
her  as  she  gazed  upon  him,  and  there  came 
into  her  mind  the  words  of  our  blessed 
Saviour,  "  Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

Ah,  how  little  did  she  think,  then,  how 
near  he  was  to  that  kingdom ! 


44  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ERNEST  RETURNS  GOOD   FOR  EVIL. 

A  PEW  days  after,  as  Ruth  was  seated  at 
au  open  window  watching  Ernest,  who  was 
playing  in  the  garden  beneath,  she  noticed 
Thomas  in  the  road  beyond,  with  his  hands 
thrust  into  the  furthest  depths  of  the  pock- 
ets of  his  ragged  trousers,  whistling  "Yankee 
Doodle;"  keeping  up,  in  the  mean  time,  a  sort 
of  accompaniment  with  his  bare  feet,  until  the 
clouds  of  dust  he  raised  almost  concealed 
him  from  view.  Yet  ever  and  anon  he  would 
pause,  and  cast  wishful  glances  toward  the 
garden,  from  Avhich  he  was  now  shut  out. 

"Tommy,  Tommy,"  said  a  soft,  childish 
voice. 

Thomas  paused,  and  looking  toward  the 
place  whence  the  soimd  proceeded,  saw  Ern- 
est, peering  through  a  broken  piece  of  the 
fence.  He  did  not  move,  however,  but 
stood  looking  at  him  with  a  half-angry, 
half-ashamed  expression  upon  his  counte- 
nance. 

"Come  here,  Tommy,  I  have  got  some- 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  45 

thing  for  you,"  repeated  Ernest,  holding  out 
his  hat,  which  was  full  of  ripe  cherries. 

As  the  boy  moved  slowly  toward  him 
Ruth  stepped  out  upon  the  portico,  that  she 
might  hear  more  distinctly  the  conversation 
which  passed  between  them. 

"I  don't  want  to  rob  you  of  yer  cherries, 
Erny,"  said  Thomas,  while  a  softened  ex- 
pression passed  over  his  countenance,  cast- 
ing a  wishful  look,  in  the  mean  time,  at  the 
tempting  fruit. 

"  O  yes.  Tommy,  take  them,  do.  I  picked 
them  on  purpose  for  you." 

After  Ernest  had  transferred  them  from 
his  own  to  Tommy's  crownless  hat  he  heaved 
a  deep  sigh,  and  looking  up  into  his  com- 
panion's sun-burnt  face,  said  tremulously, 
"  O,  Tommy,  you  don't  know  how  badly  you 
have  made  me  feel !" 

"I  didn't  mean  to  strike  you  so  hard, 
Erny,"  said  Thomas  after  a  pause,  evidently 
thinking  that  he  referred  to  the  blow  he 
gave  him. 

"  O  it  isn't  that,  it  isn't  that,  Tommy !" 
returned  Ernest  quickly.  "  I  didn't  mind 
that.  You  didn't  hurt  me,  at  least  not  much 
if  any.  It  is  about  your  soul  I  was  think- 
ing." 


M  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"My  soul?"  repeated  Thomas,  looking 
■wonderingly  into  the  little  pale  face  that 
was  lifted  so  earnestly  to  his.  Then  forcing 
a  laugh,  and  assuming  his  usual  reckless  air, 
he  added,  "You  don't  know  that  I've  got 
any." 

"  O  yes  I  do,  and  you  know  it  too,  Tom- 
my." 

Thomas  made  no  reply,  and  after  a  little 
pause  Ernest  continued:  "I  used  to  be  a 
very  bad  boy.  Tommy,  much  worse  than 
any  boy  I  know  of,  at  least  I  think  so.  I  used 
to  tell  wrong  stories  and  get  angry,  O  very 
often.  But  since  I  have  learned  how  wrong 
these  things  are,  and  how  displeased  God  is 
with  those  who  do  them,  I  have  tried  to  do 
different.  And  I  am,  O  ever  so  much  hap- 
pier than  I  used  to  be !  Wont  you  try  too, 
Tommy,  just  to  please  me?" 

The  eyes  which  were  raised  so  beseech- 
ingly to  his,  and  the  little  thin  hand,  which 
in  its  earnestness  of  appeal  took  hold  of  the 
buttons  of  the  torn  and  soiled  jacket,  evi- 
dently touched  the  boy's  better  feelings. 
But,  ashamed  of  the  emotion  that  he  was  un- 
able wholly    to   conceal,  he  said  gloomily, 

"  It's  of  no  use,  Erny.  It's  all  very  well  for 
you,  and  the  likes  of  you,  to  try  to  be  good, 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  47 

as  you  call  it.  There  is  some  diiference,  I 
fancy,  in  the  son  of  Squire  Richmond,  the 
lawyer,  and  the  son  of  Bill  Conway,  the 
drunkard.  People  would  laugh  at  the  idea 
of  my  being  good." 

"  But  in  God's  eyes  there  is  no  difference, 
Tommy,"  persisted  Ei-nest;  "he  loves  us 
just  the  same." 

"  It  looks  like  it,  don't  it  ?"  exclaimed  the 
boy  with  an  oath.  "  Look  at  my  home  and 
youi'n,  and  my  clothes  and  yourn.  O  it's 
very  well,  this  preaching,  but  you  can't  make 
me  believe  it." 

As  the  oath  fell  upon  his  ear,  Ernest  shrank 
away  from  his  companion  with  a  look  of 
grief  and  horror.  "  Don't  swear.  Tommy," 
he  said. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  hm*t  your  feelings, 
Erny,"  said  Thomas  apologetically.  "But 
as  to  swearing^  that's  nothing ;  father  swears, 
you  know.  And  as  for  that  matter,"  he 
added,  casting  a  keen  glance  at  his  com- 
panion's face, "  so  does  your  father,  don't  he  ?" 

Ernest's  cheeks  flushed  and  his  eyes 
drooped.  "I  know  that  papa  does  swear 
sometimes,"  he  said.  "But  then  he  don't 
know  how  wrong  it  is ;  when  I  have  told 
him  he  will  leave  it  off." 


48  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

Thomas  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  "  Well,'* 
he  exclaimed,  "  if  you  can  make  a  Christian 
out  of  Squire  Richmond  I  shall  believe  that 
there  is  something  in  religion.  But  I'm 
afraid  that  you'll  find  him  a  hard  cus- 
tomer." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Tommy," 
said  Ernest,  with  as  much  show  of  indigna- 
tion as  his  gentle  nature  would  admit. 
*'Papa  is  a  real  kind  man,  that  I  know.  And 
as  to  being  a  Christian,  I  don't  believe  he 
ever  saw  a  Bible.  There  never  was  one  in 
the  house  until  Miss  Sidney  came  here." 

"Never  saw  a  Bible!"  repeated  Thomas, 
with  another  laugh.  "  If  that  isn't  a  good 
one.  Don't  you  believe  that  story,  Erny. 
He  has  seen  lots  of  'em,  and  read  'em,  too. 
He  says  that  they're  nothing  but  a  pack  of 
lies." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  papa  say  that,  Tom- 
my?" 

"I  reckon  I  have,"  responded  Thomas 
coolly,  "  more  times  than  you  could  shake  a 
stick  at.  I  heard  him  tell  Dr.  Manning, 
only  last  winter,  'that  he  didn't  mean  that 
yonr  head  should  be  filled  with  the  nonsense 
that  he  stuffed  his  children's  heads  with.* 
And  it's  my  opinion  that  he  wont  more'n 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  49 

half  like  Mis:3  Sidney's  doings.  Your  father 
is  an  infidel^  tliat's  what  he  is." 

"An  infidel?"  repeated  Ernest,  with  a 
puzzled  air.  "  "What  does  that  mean,  Tom- 
my?" 

"You  ask  Miss  Sidney  what  it  means;  and 
if  your  father  aint  one,  that's  all !" 

"Well,  I  will,  Tommy.  But  wont  you 
come  next  Sunday  afternoon  and  hear  Miss 
Sidney  read  to  me  ?  She  tells  such  beauti- 
ful stories  too,  I  am  sure  you  will  like  it." 

"  No,  not  I.  Miss  Sidney  hates  the  sight 
of  me.  The  last  time  I  saw  her  she  gave 
me  a  long  lecture,  and  I'm  in  no  great  hurry 
to  see  her  again.  It  is  to  pretty  boys  like 
you,  with  clean  clothes,  smooth  hair,  and 
lily  faces,  that  such  as  she  takes  a  fancy  to, 
and  not  to  the  likes  of  me." 

As  Thomas  said  this  he  turned  away,  and 
Ernest  slowly  entered  the  house,  with  a 
sober  look  upon  his  face. 

The  next  day,  after  sitting  silently  by  Ruth 
for  some  minutes,  apparently  in  a  deep  study, 
Ernest  suddenly  exclaimed,  "Ruthy,  what 
is  an  infidel  ?" 

"  An  infidel  ?"  repeated  Ruth,  bending  a 
surprised  look  upon  that  little  sober  face. 
Then  suddenly  recollecting  his  conversation 


50  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

with  Thomas  the  day  before,  she  said,  "An 
infidel,  Ernest,  is  one  who  believes  that  there 
is  no  God." 

"  Is  papa  an  infidel  ?" 

Ruth  hesitated.  "My  dear,"  she  said 
evasively,  "I  have  never  seen  your  father, 
so  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  tell  you  posi- 
tively whether  he  is  or  not.  If  I  were  -in 
your  place  I  would  not  trouble  myself  about 
such  things.  You  are  too  young  to  under- 
stand then  fully." 

"  Thomas  Conway  says  that  he  is ;  but  I 
don't  believe  it.  How  very  lonely  it  would 
be  if  there  was  no  God.  Don't  you  think  so, 
little  mother  ?" 

"  It  would  indeed,  my  dear  boy,"  returned 
Ruth,  a  sigh  bursting  from  the  bosom  of  the 
fatherless  girl  as  she  thought  how  desolate 
and  dreary  her  life  had  been  were  it  not  for 
the  presence  of  that  Friend  who  had  so  often 
verified  his  precious  promise,  "I  will  never 
leave  or  forsake  thee." 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  51 


CHAPTER  VII. 

RUTH  VISITS  THE  DRUNKARD'S  HOME. 

Some  portion  of  the  conversation  that 
Thomas  had  with  Ernest  filled  Ruth's  heart 
with  no  little  self-reproach.  Considering 
him  as  completely  hardened  in  his  evil  ways, 
and  misled  by  the  reckless,  defiant  manner 
with  which  he  met  her  advances,  she  felt 
that  she  had  addressed  him  more  in  the  lan- 
guage of  rebuke  than  that  of  entreaty,  and 
had,  therefore,  failed  to  win  his  confidence 
and  secure  his  attention. 

She  determined  to  do  what  she  could  to 
repair  her  error.  So  the  next  day  she  set 
out  for  the  house  where  he  lived,  which  was 
Bituated  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 

Its  forlorn  and  miserable  appearance,  the 
broken  gate,  the  windows,  through  whose 
broken  panes  were  thrust  here  and  there  an 
old  hat  or  coat,  and  the  many  nameless  evi- 
dences of  want  and  discomfort,  showed,  even 
to  the  eyes  of  the  most  careless  observer, 
that  it  was  the  drunkard^s  home. 

As  Ruth  approached  the  house,  she  saw 
4 


52  ERNEST  RICHMOND. 

Thomas  m  the  door-yard  cutting  wood. 
Ragged  and  dirty  as  he  was,  she  could  not 
help  admiring  the  careless,  untaught  grace  of 
his  attitude,  as  evidently  weary  of  the  violent 
exercise,  he  stood  leaning  upon  his  ax,  with 
one  foot  upon  the  stick  of  wood  beside  him. 
The  tangled  mass  of  jetty  hair  was  brushed 
back  from  the  broad,  full  forehead,  indicating 
the  possession  of  more  than  usual  intelli- 
gence ;  while  there  was  a  fire  and  energy  in 
his  dark  eyes,  and  an  expression  of  mingled 
pride  and  resolution  around  the  mouth, 
which  showed  that  he  was  one  of  those 
whose  influence  would  be  powerful  for  good 
or  for  evil. 

A  half  smile  played  around  his  lips  as  he 
gazed  out  upon  the  clear  blue  sky  and  the 
distant  hills,  which  were  clothed  in  all  the 
bloom  and  beauty  of  a  summer  morning; 
and  its  quiet  loveliness  evidently  had  a  soft- 
ening influence  upon  him.  Yet  its  expres- 
sion instantly  changed  as  his  eye  fell  upon 
Ruth,  and  a  lowering,  sullen  look  overspread 
his  countenance. 

The  tones  in  which  Ruth  addressed  him 
were  gentle,  even  tremulous  with  feeling ;  for 
her  heart  yearned  over  the  neglected  boy  as 
she  looked  around,  and  thought  of  the  dis- 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  53 

advantages  under  which  he  labored.  But 
what  she  said  to  him  seemed  to  make  no 
more  impression  upon  him  than  upon  the  log 
of  wood  at  his  side.  With  a  gesture  of  im- 
patience he  turned  away,  and  taking  up  the 
ax,  he  resumed  his  work  with  a  force  and 
energy  that  nearly  drowned  her  voice.  And 
after  vainly  striving,  for  some  minutes,  to 
arrest  his  attention  or  eUcit  a  reply,  weary 
and  disheartened,  Ruth  retraced  her  way 
homeward. 

"  Papa  is  coming !"  exclaimed  Ernest  a 
day  or  two  after,  bursting  into  Ruth's  room, 
his  face  radiant  with  delight.  "  Mamma  has 
had  a  letter  from  him,  and  we  are  expecting 
him  every  minute.  Come  into  our  part,  and 
let  us  stand  at  the  parlor  window  and  watch 
for  him." 

"I  am  not  acquainted  with  your  father, 
and  it  would  not  be  proper,  my  dear,"  re- 
plied Ruth,  drawing  the  child  closely  to  her, 
for  a  sad  foreboding  entered  her  heart,  that 
the  days  of  their  pleasant  intercourse  were 
nearly  over. 

As  she  said  this  there  came  the  sound  of 
rapidly  approaching  wheels.  "  That  is  papa, 
he  has  come !"  exclaimed  Ernest,  breaking 
from   her   embrace   and    darting  from   the 


54  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

room.  The  next  minute  he  was  running  up 
the  graveled  walk  which  led  to  the  gate, 
which  he  reached  just  in  time  to  be  caught 
up  in  the  arms  of  a  tall  gentleman  who  was 
descending  from  a  carriage. 

JVIi-.  Richmond  did  not  let  go  of  Ernest, 
who  clung  fondly  around  his  neck,  but  hold- 
ing him  closely  to  his  heart,  carried  him  into 
the  hall,  where  he  set  him  down.  Then 
opening  a  door  upon  the  right,  he  entered  a 
loom  where  a  lady  lay  reclining  upon  a  sofa, 
with  a  weary,  languid  expression  upon  her 
countenance. 

It  was  Mrs.  Richmond,  who  half  arose 
from  her  recumbent  position  as  he  entered. 

The  husband  and^wife  had  been  parted 
some  months  ;  but  no  one  would  have  sup- 
posed it  from  the  careless,  indifferent  manner 
with  which  she  greeted  him. 

Tlie  loving  light  faded  from  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's eyes  as  they  rested  upon  her,  and  a 
half  sigh  arose  to  his  lips.  But  checking  it, 
he  just  touched  the  hand  extended  to  him, 
and  pressing  his  lips  lightly  upon  her  cheek, 
took  a  seat  by  her  side.  Then,  after  reply- 
ing to  a  few  languid  inquiries  from  her,  he 
turned  to  Ernest,  who  sprang  eagerly  to  the 
arms  outstretched  to  him. 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  55 

One  would  hardly  hare  recognized  the 
features,  stem  almost  to  haughtiness  in  their 
repose,  in  the  warm  light  that  flooded  them ; 
the  dark  eyes  grew  luminous,  and  the  lips 
softened  into  an  expression  of  almost  wo- 
manly tenderness  as  he  looked  upon  his 
boy.  Weary  and  exhausted,  Ernest  lay  quite 
still  in  his  father's  arms,  and  as  the  flush  of 
excitement  faded  from  his  cheeks,  he  had 
leisure  to  observe  how  pale  and  thin  he  had 
grown. 

"  Have  you  been  sick,  Ernest  ?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"  No,  papa,  not  very.  But  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  everything  seems  to  tire  me  of 
late." 

A  sad  foreboding  entered  Mr.  Richmond's 
heart,  for  of  four  lovely  children,  this  was 
the  only  one  that  was  left  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  Ernest,  Julia  ?" 
he  said,  turning  to  his  wife,  who  had  sank 
back  upon  the  sofa,  his  voice  and  counte- 
nance changing  to  one  of  unusual  sternness. 
"  You  wrote  me  that  he  was  as  well  as 
usual." 

"And  so  he  is,"  returned  his  wife  care- 
lessly. "  I  don't  see  but  what  he  looks  as 
well  as  he  did  when  you  went  away.    He 


56  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

always  would  have  his  sick  days,  and  I  sup- 
pose this  is  one  of  them." 

"  You  suppose,^''  repeated  Mr,  Richmond, 
irritated  at  her  indiiFerent  manner.  "  If  you 
still  lead  the  life  that  you  have  always  led 
since  our  marriage  it  is  little  you  would 
know  about  it.  It  passes  my  comprehension 
how  a  mother  can  be  so  criminally  neglect- 
ful of  her  child." 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mr.  Richmond,"  re- 
torted his  wife,  her  eyes  flashing,  and  the 
energy  of  her  look  and  tone  quite  a  contrast 
to  her  usual  listless  manner,  "  if  you  thought 
when  you  married  me  that  you  married  a 
household  drudge  you  are  much  mistaken." 

"  I  supposed  that  I  had  married  a  reason- 
able woman,"  returned  her  husband  still 
more  angi-ily.     "But  I  find — " 

Here  a  little  soft  hand  was  placed  upon 
the  lips  that  were  speaking  such  bitter 
things.  "Papa,  dear  papa,"  said  Ernest,  rais- 
ing his  eyes  beseechingly  to  his  father's  face. 

What  was  there  in  that  gentle  touch 
which  was  such  a  powerful  check  to  the 
angry  passions  which  were  struggling  for 
utterance  in  his  heart  ? 

Mr.  Richmond  drew  that  little  head  down  to 
its  former  resting-place  and  remained  silent. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  57 

Mrs.  Richmond,  after  waiting  in  vain  for 
him  to  finish  his  sentence,  had  recourse  to 
her  pocket  handkerchief  and  smelUng-bottle, 
exclaiming  between  her  sobs,  "That  she 
was  a  wretched  woman,  that  she  wished  she 
had  never  been  born,"  with  smidry  other 
expressions  of  a  similar  nature,  and  quite  as 
agreeable  to  hear;  which,  however,  failed 
to  elicit  any  reply  from  her  husband,  who 
sat  motionless,  with  compressed  lips,  and 
gaze  fixed  intently  upon  Ernest,  whose  eyes 
wandered  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  sad, 
troubled  expression  upon  his  countenance 
that  was  pitiful  to  behold.  How  did  he 
yearn  to  bring  together  those  two  embit- 
tered, alienated  hearts,  and  fill  them  with  the 
peace  and  love  that  glowed  so  warmly  in 
his  own.  But  both  these  feelings,  and  the 
means  by  which  to  accomplish  what  he  so 
much  desired  to  bring  about,  were  too  ill- 
defined  for  his  immature  mind  to  grasp 
them.  And  so  he,  too,  was  silent,  wonder- 
ing in  his  little  heart  why  it  was  that  papa 
and  mamma  did  not  love  each  other,  and 
why  it  was  that  they  were  so  unhappy. 
The  effect  of  this  want  of  harmony  on  their 
part  was  evident  to  him,  but  the  cause  lay 
too  deep  for  him  to  discover. 


68  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ERNEST  INTRODUCES  HIS  FATHER  TO 
RUTH. 

"  Now  I  believe  I  have  seen  all  of  your 
treasures,  Ernest,"  said  Mr.  Richmond  the 
next  morning,  after  he  had  admired  to  his 
heart's  content  the  infant  progeny  of  his  pet 
rabbit,  which  Ernest  had  brought  into  tlie 
breakfast-room  in  a  little  basket  to  show  to 
his  father. 

"No,  indeed,  papa,"  returned  Ernest 
eagerly;  "you  haven't  seen  the  best 
and  dearest  of  them  all  yet,  my  little 
mother." 

"  Your  little  mother  ?"  repeated  his  father 
in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  Yes,  papa,  my  little  mother,"  said  Ernest 
simply,  unconscious  that  she  needed  any 
other  designation.  "  I  tried  to  coax  her  to 
come  in  and  see  you  last  night,  but  I  couldn't 
get  her  to  come." 

"  What  does  the  child  mean,  Juha  ?"  said 
Mr.  Richmond,  turning  to  his  wife  with  a 
puzzled  look,  who  had  just  entered  the 
breakfast-room,  which,  late  as  it  was,  was 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  59 

earlier  than  her  usual  breakfast-time.  "  Who 
is  it  that  Ernest  calls  his  little  mother  ?" 

"  It  is  a  Miss  Sidney ;  the  young  school 
teacher,  who,  you  remember,  had  a  two  years' 
lease  of  the  three  rooms  in  the  south  wing 
when  you  bought  the  house.  She  is  very 
fond  of  Ernest,  who  is  a  great  deal  with 
her." 

"  And  how  did  he  come  to  give  her  such 
a  curious  title  ?" 

"  O  he  took  that  from  Dr.  Manning. 
That  was  the  name  he  gave  her  once  when 
Ernest  had  one  of  his  ill  turns,  and  so  he 
has  called  her  by  it  ever  since." 

During  this  conversation  Ernest  stood  at 
the  window  looking  out  into  the  garden. 
"There  she  is,  papa,"  he  exclaimed  sud- 
denly. 

"  Where  ?"  inquired  his  father,  going  to 
the  window. 

"  There,  down  by  the  cherry-tree." 

Mr.  Richmond  looked  in  the  direction  to 
which  Ernest  pointed.  The  face  was  turned 
from  him,  but  he  noticed  that  the  figure  was 
slight  even  to  childishness.  "She  is  small 
enough  to  warrant  that  title,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  papa,"  returned  Ernest.  "But 
now  please  to  come  out  into  the  garden,  I 


60  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

want  you  to  talk  to  her.  She  is  so  kind  and 
good  that  I  love  her  dearly,  and  I  am  sure 
you  will." 

"But  do  you  think  she  will  love  me, 
Ernest?"  said  his  father  laughing.  "It 
would  be  a  pity  to  have  the  love  all  on  one 
side." 

"  I  know  that  she  will,  papa." 

"  What  makes  you  so  certain  of  that,  my 
son?"  inquired  Mr.  Richmond,  looking  down 
smilingly  into  the  eyes  that  were  lifted  so 
earnestly  to  his. 

"O  because  she  says  that  we  ought  to 
love  everybody." 

"Well,  if  she  loves  everybody  that  will 
include  me,  I  suppose."  And  partly  to 
please  Ernest  and  pai-tly  to  gratify  his  own 
curiosity,  Mr.  Richmond  took  his  hat,  and 
taking  hold  of  Ernest's  hand,  walked  out  into 
the  garden  toward  the  place  Avhere  Ruth 
stood. 

She  did  not  observe  their  approach  ;  her 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  beautiful  prospect 
stretched  out  on  every  side,  and  as  her  heart 
expanded  under  the  influence  of  its  quiet 
loveliness,  it  instinctively  ascended  to  the 
glorious  Giver  of  it  all. 

Ernest  ran  a  little  ahead  of  his  father,  and 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  61 

gently  pulling  Ruth's  dress,  exclaimed, 
"Good  morning,  little  mother.  I  have 
brought  my  papa  to  see  you." 

The  color  deepened  in  Ruth's  cheeks  as 
she  turned  her  eyes  upon  him.  Yet  there 
was  something  in  the  expression  of  her 
countenance  that  checked  the  smile  that 
arose  to  Mr.  Richmond's  lips  at  the  novelty 
of  their  introduction. 

"Mrs.  Richmond  tells  me  that  you 
have  been  very  kind  to  my  little  boy," 
he  said,  inclining  his  head  respectfully. 
"I  trust  that  you  -have  not  found  him 
troublesome." 

The  hand  that  was  laid  so  caressingly 
upon  that  little  head  spoke  more  plainly 
than  words.  "ISTot  in  the  least,"  she  re- 
plied. "  On  the  contrary,  he  is  a  great  deal 
of  company  for  me." 

After  conversing  a  few  minutes  upon 
different  topics,  Mr.  Richmond  was  about 
to  turn  away,  when  a  sudden  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him,  "Miss  Sidney,"  he 
said  abruptly  and  with  some  embarrassment, 
"  excuse  me,  but  you  have  been  a  good  deal 
with  Ernest,  and  I  thought  that  perhaps  you 
might  know.  It  strikes  me  that  he  is  look- 
ing pale  and  thin.     Do  you  think  that  there 


62  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

is  anything  in  particular  the  matter  with 
the  child  ?'' 

Ruth  looked  thoughtful.  "Ernest  does 
not  seem  to  be  so  strong  as  other  children 
of  his  own  age,"  she  said ;  "  the  least  excite- 
ment or  over  exertion  seems  to  tire  him. 
But  whether  this  is  owing  to  the  weakness 
of  a  naturally  delicate  organization,  or  to 
the  ejEfect  of  any  latent  disease,  I  am  unable 
to  say.  I  should  advise  you  to  consult  some 
physician  in  regard  to  him  at  once." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Sidney ;  I  think  I  Avill 
take  your  advice.  Still  I  cannot  think  that 
it  is  anything  very  serious,  he  looks  so  bright 
and  animated.  Yet  it  may  be  as  well  for 
him  to  take  something,  and  I  will  see  Dr. 
Manning  this  very  afternoon." 

During  this  conversation  Ruth  was  quietly 
scrutinizing  the  countenance  of  the  man, 
whose  arrival  she  had  dreaded,  she  scarcely 
knew  why.  It  was  a  face,  once  seen,  to  be 
always  remembered.  There  was  in  it  the 
blending  of  so  much  evil  and  good;  a 
strange  mingling  of  the  highest  and  noblest, 
as  well  as  the  lower  and  more  debasing  pas- 
sions of  our  nature. 

There  was  something  winning  and  pecul- 
iarly attractive  in  his  manner  when  he  chose 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  63 

to  exert  himself.  And  Ruth  did  not  won- 
der, as  she  looked  upon  him,  that  his 
impressive  delivery  and  wonderful  powers 
of  oratory  had  swayed  so  many  hearts,  turn- 
ing their  feet  from  the  narrow  way  to  the 
broad  road  that  leads  to  death.  "  Can  it  be 
possible  that  he  is  an  infidel  ?"  she  thought 
as  she  gazed  upon  the  broad,  expansive  brow, 
which  bore  the  unmistakable  impress  of  the 
God  whose  existence  he  denied. 

She  noticed  how  much  the  heart  of  the 
father  was  bound  up  in  the  frail,  delicate 
child  who  clung  so  fondly  to  him.  She 
knew  that  that  little  hand  held  the  key 
which  could  unlock  the  heart  which  had 
proved  so  obdurate  and  unyielding  to  the 
most  tender  and  touching  appeals,  which  the 
strongest  and  most  convincing  arguments 
had  failed  to  move.  And  there  came  into 
her  mind  these  words,  "A  little  child  shall 
lead  them." 

"  God's  ways  are  not  our  ways,"  she 
murmured  as  she  watched  their  retreating 
forms.  "Who  knows  but  what  this  dear 
child,  who  has  just  begun  to  know  and  love 
bim,  may  turn  the  father  from  the  error  of 
his  ways  ?  Yet  was  it  not  more  likely  that 
the  father's  evil  example  and  precepts  would 


64  ERNEST   RICHMOND 

destroy  the  good  seed  that  was  springing  up 
in  that  young  heart,  planting  ia  its  stead 
those  poisonous  doctrines  which  had  borne 
in  his  own  such  bitter  fruit?"  Who  could 
tell  ?  Time  could  alone  show  whether  the 
good  would  overcome  the  evil  or  the  evil 
the  good. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  65 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DEACOiSr    RICHMOND. 

DEAcoiir  Richmond,*  the  grandfather  of 
Ernest,  was  a  rigid  Calvinist.  A  finn  be- 
liever in  the  doctrine  of  "  predestination," 
it  was  his  belief  that  God  had  set  apart  a 
certain  portion  of  his  children  to  be  saved, 
but  had  as  surely  doomed  the  rest  to  the 
torments  of  a  never-ending  hell.  That  he 
was  one  of  the  "  elect,"  a  chosen  vessel  of 
the  Lord  from  the  very  hour  of  his  birth, 
he  never  entertained  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 
Indeed,  he  seemed  to  take  a  grim  satisfac- 
tion in  contrasting  what  would  probably  be 
his  future  state  after  death,  and  that  of  the 
great  mass  of  mankind,  whom  he  was  con- 
vinced were  on  the  broad  road  to  destruc- 
tion, in  which  he  classed  all  those  who 
deviated  in  the  slightest  degree  from  the 
rigid  rule  that  he  had  laid  down  for  his  own 
guidance.  Naturally  of  an  austere  disposi- 
tion, religion  (if  we  may  call  his  belief  by 
such  a  holy  name)  seemed  to  have  closed 
*  See  FrontiBpiece. 


66  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

up  every  avenue  to  human  love  and  sym- 
pathy. 

He  married  in  early  life  the  daughter  of  a 
small  farmer.  She  shared  in  a  great  meas- 
ure the  peculiar  ideas  of  her  husband,  while 
her  industrious  and  economical  habits  were 
a  source  of  much  congratulation  to  the  wor- 
thy deacon,  who,  however  interested  he 
might  be  in  a  future  state  of  existence,  al- 
ways had  his  eye  on  what  is  termed  the 
"  main  chance."  She  made  him  the  fa- 
ther of  a  son,  whom  he  called  John ;  but 
left  the  child  motherless  at  the  early  age  of 
five. 

It  was  rumored  that  harmony  did  not  al- 
ways exist  between  them;  that  Mrs.  Rich- 
mond sometimes  rebelled  against  her  hus- 
band's despotic  sway.  However  that  might 
be,  after  her  death  he  loudly  extolled  her 
many  household  virtues,  and  took  great  de- 
light in  holding  her  up  as  a  pattern  to  the 
delicate  and  fragile  being  who  afterward 
shared  his  name  and  home,  we  would  have 
added  heart,  if  he  had  had  any  to  bestow. 

How  Deacon  Richmond  came  to  choose 
for  his  second  wife  a  person  so  directly  the 
reverse  of  his  first  choice  was  a  marvel  to 
many.     And  how  Edith  Lee,  in  her  fresh 


AND   HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  67 

young  loveliness,  came  to  unite  her  fate  to 
that  stern  man  of  nearly  twice  her  years, 
stranger  still.  Yet  so  it  was.  On  his 
p^  t,  it  might  have  been  her  rare  and  exceed- 
ing beauty ;  though  it  is  more  probable  that 
the  large  bridal  dowry  she  brought  him 
influenced  him  more  than  any  other  con- 
sideration. 

Poor  Edith !  it  was  a  sad  day  for  her 
when  she  crossed  the  threshold  of  that  dark 
and  cheerless  home.  Deacon  Richmond 
ruled  his  household  with  a  rod  of  iron ;  no 
ray  of  love  softened  its  cold,  rigid  discipline. 
AVhenever  that  slow,  solemn  step  drew  near, 
the  smile  faded  from  the  lip  of  the  young 
wife,  and  the  whispered  "hush,  father  is 
coming !"  stilled  the  sportive  mirth  of  the 
children,  who  should  have  hailed  his  presence 
with  shouts  of  delight.    • 

At  first,  Mrs.  Richmond  strove  to  alter 
the  cheerless  aspect  of  her  new  home.  She 
threw  back  the  heavy  blinds  of  the  large 
"square  room,"  which  in  her  predecessor's 
time  was  never  opened  excepting  for  com- 
pany, and  let  in  the  cheerful  sunlight,  drap- 
ing them  with  snowy  muslin  curtains,  and 
carefully  arranged  upon  table  and  mantle 
some  of  the  rare  and  costly  gifts  of  the  in- 


68  ERNEST   RICHMOND 

dulgent  father,  of  Avhom  she  was  the  pet  ana 
idol. 

Passionately  fond  of  flowers,  she  ventured 
to  place  a  few  plants  upon  the  broad  win- 
dow-seats, and  to  train  a  vine  over  the  case- 
ment. But  Deacon  Richmond  looked  frown- 
ingly  upon  all  these  innocent  devices  to  make 
home  pleasant  and  attractive.  They  were, 
to  use  his  own  words,  not  only  childish  folly, 
entirely  unbecoming  in  his  wife,  but  a  sinful 
Avaste  of  time  and  money.  He  could  not  see 
God  in  all  his  works,  nor  recognize  his  fin- 
ger in  the  beautiful  flewers  springing  up  sa 
lavishly  from  the  green  earth,  the  love  o/ 
which  he  has  implanted  in  the  human  heart 
to  draw  it  more  strongly  to  him. 

At  last,  weary  and  disheartened,  Mrs. 
Richmond  ceased  from  the  efforts  which 
served  only  to  bring  down  upon  her  head 
the  contempt  and  anger  of  her  husband,  and 
walked  quietly  and  patiently  along  the  path 
he  had  marked  out  for  her.  Yet,  though 
she  never  complained,  her  health  and  spirits 
gradually  sank  beneath  the  heavy  burdens 
laid  upon  them,  and  in  the  ninth  year  ot 
their  marriage  she  died,  leaving  two  chil- 
dren, a  son  and  a  daughter. 

When  Mrs.  Richmond  began  to  realize 


AND   HIS   LITTLE    MOTHER,  69 

that  she  must  leave  her  children,  the  pecul- 
iar temperament  of  her  son  Albert,  who,  even 
at  that  early  age,  began  to  evince  the  strong 
self-will  and  fiery  temper  that  distinguished 
him  in  after  life,  and  which  required  a  firm, 
yet  gentle  hand  effectually  to  repress  and 
subdue,  as  well  as  the  sensitive  and  delicate 
organization  of  her  little  Grace,  occasioned 
her  extreme  solicitude.  With  many  tears 
she  laid  them  in  His  arms,  in  whom  none 
trust  in  vain,  entreating  that  he  would  re- 
member in  their  behalf  his  many  gracious 
promises. 

A  short  time  before  she  died  she  called 
Albert  to  her,  and  placing  the  hand  of  his 
sister  in  his,  bade  him  love  and  watch  over 
her.  Young  as  he  was,  his  mother's  pale 
face  and  fast  glazing  eye,  and  above  all,  the 
impressive  manner  in  which  she  spoke,  were 
never  forgotten  by  him. 

Feeble  as  Mrs.  Richmond  had  been  for 
many  months,  and  evident  as  it  was  to  every 
one  else  who  saw  her  that  she  must  soon 
die,  her  husband  did  not  seem  to  realize  her 
situation.  He  had  become'  so  accustomed  ta 
that  pale  face  and  feeble  step,  that  when, 
after  an  absence  of  a  few  days,  he  returned 
to  his  home,   and  was  told  that  his  wife 


70  EBNEST  RICHMOND 

was  dying,  he  was  so  much  shocked  that  for  a 
moment  his  usual  self-possession  forsook  him. 

She  was  speechless  when  he  entered  the 
room;  yet  she  evidently  knew  him,  for 
when  he  bent  over  her  she  pointed  to  the 
children,  who  stood  sobbing  by  the  bedside, 
and  then  raised  her  eyes  beseechingly  to  his. 
All  the  mother's  love  and  anguish  were 
blended  in  that  imploring  gaze,  and  it 
touched  the  cold  heart,  and  penetrated  the 
dull  brain  of  him  to  whom  it  was  directed, 
though  he  but  dimly  comprehended  its 
meaning. 

He  was  surprised  that  she  should  feel  the 
slightest  hesitancy  to  leaving  their  children 
to  his  guardianship.  So  there  was  a  shade 
of  reproach  in  the  tone  in  which  he  said, 
"  You  surely  cannot  doubt  but  what  I  shall 
do  my  duty  by  the  children,  Edith  ?" 

The  dying  mother  made  a  strong  and  suc- 
cessful effort  to  speak.  "  If  you  have  ever 
loved  me,  my  husband,"  she  faltered,  "be 
gentle  with  them.  Do  not  be  so  harsh,  so 
stern  as  you  have  been — "  Here  she  ceased, 
^whether  from  want  of  strength,  or  because 
she  did  not  like  to  embitter  the  parting  hour 
with  anything  like  reproach,  it  is  impossible 
to  Bay. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  71 

"  JT"  I  have  ever  loved  her — harsh  and 
stern^''  repeated  the  deacon,  as  he  sat  in  the 
dim  twilight,  watching  the  shadows  of  death 
settling  upon  that  young  face.  "  What  can 
she  mean  ?  Her  mind  is  wandering."  And 
with  this  thought  he  dismissed  the  uneasy 
feeling  that  had  entered  his  heart. 

Ah  no  !  Edith  Richmond's  mind  was  never 
clearer  than  when,  standing  upon  the  confines 
of  another  world,  she  took  her  last  look  of 
this.  It  took  all  the  Christian's  faith  to 
silence  the  mother's  prophetic  fears  as  she 
gazed  for  the  last  time  upon  her  children, 
and  then  upon  him  to  whose  guardianship 
she  must  leave  them. 

Yet  as  she  gazed  a  sudden  light  flashed 
around,  and  she  saw  two  shining  angels 
standing  beside  her  weeping  little  ones,  their 
snowy  wings  half  vaUing  them  from  her 
sight.  "  Their  angels  do  always  behold  the 
face  of  our  Father,"  she  murmured,  and 
with  a  smile  of  triumph  upon  her  lips  she 
passed  away. 

Deacon  Richmond  slowly  arose  from  his 
seat,  and  closing  those  blue,  rayless  eyes, 
said  solemnly,  "The  Lord  gave,  and  the 
Lord  hath  taken  away ;  blessed  be  the  name 
of  the  Lord." 


72  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

O  blinded,  self-righteous  heart !  the  Lord 
indeed  gave^  but  did  he,  the  mild  and  merci- 
ful, lay  such  heavy  burdens  upon  those 
slight  shoulders  1  Was  it  his  will,  that  in 
payment  for  all  her  love  she  should  receive 
those  harsh  words  and  stern  looks  Avhich, 
one  by  one,  bore  her  down  to  the  grave, 
leaving  her  children  so  early  motherless  ? 

How  often  is  it  thus.  "We  draw  down 
upon  our  heads  the  punishment  due  to  our 
own  reckless  folly,  and  then  wonder  that  the 
hand  of  God  should  be  laid  sq  heavily  upon 
us.  In  our  pride  and  ignorance  we  fling 
back  the  gift  to  the  Giver,  or  else  trample  it 
under  our  feet,  and  then,  when  it  is  past  re- 
call, murmur  through  our  tears,  "That  the 
Lord  hath  taken  away." 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  73 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  STERN  FATHER  AND  HIS   MOTHER- 
LESS CHILDREN. 

Immediately  after  the  funeral,  Deacon 
Richmond  sent  for  a  maiden  sister  of  his  to 
take  charge  of  his  household,  resolving  in 
his  own  mind  that  he  would  not  take  to 
himself  another  heljTmeet.  And  though,  as 
time  moved  on,  various  were  the  maidens 
of  an  uncertain  age,  and  ambitious  widows, 
who  smiled  graciously  upon  him,  and  who 
evidently  would  very  gladly  become  the 
third  Mrs.  Richmond,  and  though  many  of 
his  brothers  in  the  Church  recommended  this 
and  that  lady  "  who  would  make  him  such 
a  desirable  companion,  and  be  such  a  good 
mother  to  his  children,"  the  deacon  remained 
firm  in  his  resolution. 

Prudence  Richmond  was  very  much  like 
her  brother  in  character  and  disposition,  and 
carried  out  to  the  fullest  extent  the  rigid 
rule  that  he  had  laid  down  for  his  household. 
She  made  no  secret  of  her  dislike  of  children, 
though,  according  to  her  narrow  ideas  of 
duty,  she  endeavored  to  fulfill  it  toward  her 


74  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

little  niece  and  nephews.  She  saw  that  they 
had  their  meals  in  due  season,  that  their  hair 
was  smoothly  brushed,  their  faces  clean,  and 
their  clothes  in  proper  order. 

She  was  a  notable  housewife,  carrying  her 
ideas  of  neatness  and  order  to  such  an  extent 
that  they  were  a  source  of  torture  to  her- 
self and  everybody  around  her.  Her  keen 
eye  could  detect  dust  and  disorder  where  no 
other  eye  could  perceive  it,  and  woe  to  the 
luckless  wight  who  infringed  upon  the  es- 
tablished order  of  the  house  after  she  had 
"  put  things  to  rights." 

It  will  be  readily  perceived  that  this 
peculiarity  would  make  the  care  of  children, 
especially  of  a  boy  like  Albert,  doubly  dis- 
tasteful. For  though  he  was  remarkably 
warm-hearted  and  generous,  he  was  one  of 
those  unfortunate  boys  who  are  always  tear- 
ing and  soiling  their  clothes,  tracking  the 
clean  floor  with  their  muddy  boots,  and,  to 
use  his  aunt's  expressive  language,  "  turning 
everything  upside  down,  and  making  the 
house  a  perfect  bedlam." 

So  she  was  only  too  glad  to  get  him  out 
of  her  sight  and  hearing,  and  was  not  slow 
in  expressing  her  pleasure  whenever  he  left 
the  house,  and  her  annoyance  whenever  he 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  7o 

entered  it.  Where  he  went,  or  with  whom, 
it  mattered  little  to  her  so  long  as  he  was 
out  of  her  way.  And  as  for  Deacon  Rich- 
mond, so  long  as  he  saw  the  children  at 
meal-time,  and  they  were  in  at  their  usual 
hour  for  retiring,  and  regular  in  their  attend- 
ance at  church,  and  he  was  not  troubled 
with  any  complaints  about  them,  he  supposed 
all  was  right  and  looked  no  furtjper. 

Albert  was  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of 
this  liberty,  gladly  escaping  from  a  home 
which  not  only  was  never  made  pleasant  to 
him,  but  where  he  was  subjected  to  an  almost 
constant  checking  and  fault-finding,  under 
which  his  proud,  impatient  spirit  chafed,  and 
which  he  was  determined  to  escape  altogether 
as  soon  as  he  was  his  own  master. 

Deacon  Richmond  was  one  of  those  who 
believe  in  training  up  children  in  the  "/ear," 
if  not  in  the  "  admonition  of  the  Lord,"  and 
in  its  most  literal  sense,  and  he  carried  out 
his  belief  to  its  fullest  extent.  The  terrors 
of  the  law,  the  vengeance  of  an  angry  God, 
the  torments  of  a  never-ending  hell  were 
held  up  constantly  before  them.  He  never 
spoke  of  the  loving  Saviour,  who  came  to  re- 
deem all  who  would  come  unto  him,  and 
who  wills  not  that  any  should  be  lost ;  or  if 


76  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

he  did,  it  was  as  the  Saviour  of  a  chosen  few, 
chosen  from  the  foundation  of  the  world. 
He  never  took  them  upon  his  knee,  and  told 
them  of  the  habe  that  was  horn  in  a  manger, 
and  who,  when  he  came  to  man's  estate, 
took  little  children  in  his  arms  and  blessed 
them,  or  simplified  to  their  childish  compre- 
hension the  touching  story  of  the  cross,  tell- 
ing them  of^iim  who  hung  thereon,  that  he 
might  give  to  them  eternal  life. 

O  no.  Deacon  Richmond  never  thought  of 
this.  The  idea  of  making  religion  attractive 
to  his  children  no  more  entered  into  his 
mind  than  that  it  was  his  duty  to  make  home 
pleasant  to  them.  He  pointed  out  to  them 
this  one  sentence,  "  He  that  belie veth  shall 
be  saved,  and  he  that  believeth  not  shall  be 
damned ;"  and  having  done  this,  he  con- 
ceived that  he  had  done  all  that  could  be  re- 
quired of  him. 

In  common  with  a  great  many  well-mean- 
ing people,  he  committed  the  sad  mistake  of 
often  requiring  them  to  commit  to  memory 
a  certain  portion  of  Scripture  in  expiation  of 
some  offense,  or  omission  of  duty,  thus  asso- 
ciating the  Bible  with  the  idea  of  punish- 
ment. 

As  for  the  Sabbath,  they  looked  forward 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  77 

to  it  with  a  feeling  of  dread ;  for  it  never 
occurred  to  the  deacon  that  the  cessation 
from  all  active  employment,  which  to  him 
was,  in  itself,  a  source  of  pleasure,  was  abso- 
lute torture  to  the  young  active  limbs  and 
restless  spirits  of  his  children,  to  whom 
change  and  motion  were  a  law  of  their 
being. 

They  were  required  at  a  very  early  age  to 
attend  the  public  service  of  God ;  the  inter- 
vening time  was  spent  in  doors,  in  as  perfect 
a  state  of  quietude  as  they  could  possibly 
attain.  The  slightest  approach  to  merri- 
ment was  regarded  as  a  serious  offense,  No 
books  were  furnished  them,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  sermons  and  a  few  essays,  chiefly  of 
a  religious  character,  utterly  devoid  of  in- 
terest, and  entirely  beyond  their  compre- 
hension. 

And  thus  the  Bible,  which  was  intended 
to  be  the  source  of  pleasure  as  well  as  of 
truth,  was  but  a  task  book  to  them ;  and  the 
Sabbath,  which  they  should  have  called  "  a 
delight,  honorable,"  was  rendered  a  wea- 
riness. 

Upon  the  three  children  this  training  had 
an  effect  as  diverse  as  their  different  tem- 
peraments.   Jolm,  the  elder,  strongly  resem- 


78  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

bled  his  father,  possessing  the  same  narrow 
views  and  cautious  temperament,  together 
with  the  natural  shrewdness  and  grasping 
disposition  which  had  characterized  his 
mother.  Though  he  possessed  neither  the 
kind  heart  nor  the  natural  abilities  which 
distinguished  his  half-brother,  Albert,  he  was 
the  favorite  son ;  looked  upon  by  his  father 
as  the  one  who  would  be  the  pride  and  com- 
fort of  his  declining  years.  Though  natu- 
rally sedate  and  serious,  he  was  not  entirely 
destitute  of  the  feelings  common  to  his  age, 
and  his  heart  would  sometimes  rebel  at  the 
many  restrictions  laid  upon  him;  but  his 
natural  shrewdness  and  self-control  enabled 
him  to  conceal  it,  and  to  fall  in  readily  with 
his  father's  views  and  feehngs ;  so,  as  he  grew 
older,  he  obtained  a  strong  and  increasing 
influence  over  him,  which  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  use  for  the  advancement  of  his  own 
interest. 

Grace  was  the  image  of  her  mother,  both 
in  form  and  disposition ;  though,  unfortu- 
nately, she  inherited  with  her  uncommon 
beauty  her  frail  and  delicate  organization. 
Her  gentle  and  yielding  disposition  enabled 
her  to  submit  without  a  murmur  to  the  num- 
berless and  needless  restraints  which  were 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  79 

SO  irksome  to  her  brothers.  Yet  these  very- 
characteristics  made  her  shrink  from  the 
harsh  tenets  inculcated  by  her  father,  and 
which  she  could  not  but  perceive  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  teachings  of  the  meek 
and  merciful.  As  is  often  the  case,  her 
trustful  and  childlike  spirit  guided  her  aright, 
for  it  led  her  to  the  cross  of  Chi-ist.  Her 
thirsty  soul  drank  eagerly  the  sincere  milk 
of  the  word,  which  to  receive  in  its  purity 
we  must  become  as  Uttle  children. 

And  thus  it  was,  while  the  father  was 
exulting  in  the  son,  who  by  a  few  set 
phrases  was  testifying  his  faith  in  the  relig- 
ion of  whose  reality  he  knew  nothing,  and 
thus  taking  his  first  lesson  in  hypocrisy, 
there  was  going  on  in  the  heart  of  the  gen- 
tle daughter  by  his  side,  all  unknown  to 
him,  a  work  commenced  and  carried  on  by 
His  hand  whose  home  is  not  with  the  proud 
and  arrogant,  but  with  the  meek  and  lowly 
of  heart. 

Grace  shrank  from  disclosing  her  feelings 
to  the  cold,  unsympathizing  heart  of  her 
father ;  and  though  to  her  favorite  brother, 
Albert,  she  would  gladly  have  been  more 
communicative,  a  natural  self-distrust,  and 
the  difficulty  of  expressing  in  words  what 


80  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

was  SO  clear  to  her  OAvn.  heart,  made  it 
impossible  for  him  to  understand  her.  And 
though,  in  after  years,  he  recollected  a  few 
words  here  and  there,  which  showed  him 
the  true  state  of  her  mind,  they  made  little 
impression  upon  him  at  the  time  they  were 
spoken. 

Thus  no  one  knew  of  the  happy  change 
that  had  come  over  her,  though  all  remarked 
how  gentle  and  lovely  she  grew,  how 
untiring  in  her  efforts  to  make  every  one 
happy  around  her ;  so  that  her  father's  voice 
grew  less  stern  when  he  spoke  to  her,  and 
her  aunt  would  often  exclaim,  "that  really 
Grace  was  an  uncommonly  good  girl,  and 
did  credit  to  the  pains  she  had  taken  with 
her." 

Albert  was  different  from  either  of  the 
other  children.  Passionate  and  self-wiUed, 
yet  generous  and  open-hearted,  he  was  a 
striking  contrast  to  his  elder  brother.  His 
high  spirit  disdained  the  ai"ts  through  which 
John  won  his  way  to  his  father's  favor,  and 
by  which  he  covered  up  aU  that  was  amiss 
in  his  own  conduct.  His  daring  and  impuls- 
ive heart  betrayed  him  into  many  youthful 
errors  and  indiscretions,  which  were  treated 
by  his  father  with  a  severity  entirely  dispro- 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  81 

portioned  to  their  nature,  and  wliich  did 
not  serve  to  make  him  more  amenable  to 
control,  or  strengthen  the  bond  of  affection 
between  them. 

His  qnick  eye  detected  the  difference  be- 
tween his  father's  profession  and  practice ; 
that  while  he  was  loud  in  his  denunciations 
against  sin,  he  had  little  of  His  spirit  whose 
servant  he  professed  to  be.  The  deacon 
was  too  politic  to  overstep  the  strict  letter 
of  the  law ;  but  he  was  naturally  avaricious, 
and  it  was  easy  to  be  perceived  that  he  was 
not  always  actuated  by  the  spirit  of  the 
golden  rule.  As  his  means  increased,  he 
gave  largely  to  foreign  missions  'and  other 
works  of  public  charity,  though  it  was  in 
order  that  it  "  might  be  seen  and  known  of 
men,"  while  he  turned  away  unrelieved  the 
poor  who  stood  by  his  door. 

This  was  not  unnoticed  by  Albert,  who, 
not  unlike  many  others,  associated  religion 
with  the  conduct  of  its  followers.  And  alas 
for  him,  alas  for  them  both,  there  sprang  up 
in  his  heart  a  growing  contempt,  not  for  his 
father  only,  but  for  the  faith  he  professed; 
forgetful  that  its  Founder  had  warned  us  that 
such  things  would  be,  but  telling  us  also 
"  that  by  their  fruits  we  should  know  them." 


82  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

There  never  was  a  great  deal  of  sympathy 
and  affection  between  the  two  brothers,  and 
as  they  grew  older  the  breach  widened. 
John  had  always  been  jealous  of  Albert. 
His  superior  personal  beauty,  and  frank  and 
engaging  manners,  made  him,  in  spite  of  his 
numerous  faults,  a  general  favorite;  while 
with  none  of  the  glaring  errors  which  were 
too  often  observed  in  his  brother,  John's 
selfish  disposition,  and  total  absence  of  all 
his  generous  and  endearing  qualities,  made 
him  as  equally  shunned  and  avoided,  except- 
ing by  a  certain  portion  of  the  community, 
who,  like  his  father,  were  deceived  by  his 
affectation  of  superior  sanctity. 

Albert's  keen  eye  saw  through  the  vail  of 
hypocrisy  with  which  John  sought  to  con- 
ceal his  real  character.  Quick  witted  and 
fluent  of  tongue,  he  was  fond  of  unmasking 
him,  and  ridiculing  his  pretensions  to  piety, 
which  he  did  not  fail  to  perceive  were  only 
assumed  from  motives  of  policy.  John 
always  felt  uncomfortable  in  his  brother's 
presence,  and  this  fear  and  jealousy  soon 
ripened  into  positive  hatred.  He  was  well 
aware  that  if  he  could  induce  his  father  to 
disinherit  his  half-brother,  he  would  in  due 
time  come  into  the  possession  of  nearly  the 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  83 

whole  of  his  rapidly  increasing  wealth.  So 
he  was  untiring  in  his  efforts  to  turn  his 
heart  against  him,  looking  eagerly  forward 
to  the  time  when  he  should  be  able  to  grat- 
ify both  his  ambition  and  his  jealousy, 

Naturally  of  a  social  disposition,  and  de- 
barred from  all  the  innocent  recreations  of 
youth,  it  is  not  strange  that  Albert  plunged 
into  forbidden  pleasures;  or  with  such  a 
dreary,  cheerless  home,  that  he  sought  so- 
ciety more  congenial  with  his  feelings.  John 
was  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of  this,  duly 
reporting  to  his  father  every  a'ct  of  youthful 
folly  that  came  to  his  knowledge,  though 
he  did  it  with  a  seeming  reluctance  and 
affected  pity ;  which,  however,  only  served 
to  heighten  the  deacon's  indignation  against 
the  unhappy  young  man,  whom  kindness 
might  have  saved,  but  whom  harshness  and 
severity  only  drove  still  further  from  the 
right  path. 

When  he  was  about  nineteen,  there  came 
to  the  town  where  he  resided  a  noted  lectur- 
er to  address  the  people.  He  was  one  of 
those  "  new  lights  "  which  have  risen  up  of 
late  years,  and  which  have  bewildered  and 
led  astray  so  many  hearts.  He  denied  the 
truth  of  the  Bible,  and  ridiculed  the  claims 
6 


84  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

of  Christianity ;  yet  his  ingenious  reasoning 
and  resistless  flow  of  eloquence  had  tui*ned 
older  and  Aviser  heads  than  his,  whose  edu- 
cation, and  the  circumstances  which  sur- 
rounded him,  predisposed  to  become  an  easy 
convert. 

As  will  be  readily  believed.  Deacon  Rich- 
mond was  filled  with  horror  at  this  open  dis- 
semination of  infidelity  in  their  midst,  and 
strictly  forbade  any  of  his  household  at- 
tending the  meetings,  which  were  nightly 
crowded  with  curious  and  attentive  listeners. 

This  prohibition  served  only  still  more  to 
arouse  Albert's  curiosity  to  hear,  and  in  an 
evil  hour  he  went.  This  rejection  of  the 
light  of  revealed  religion,  and  trusting 
entirely  to  the  guidance  of  reason,  which 
were  so  earnestly  advocated  by  the  speaker, 
was  a  new  and  delightful  theory,  and  one 
which  warmly  enlisted  the  feelings  of  his 
ardent,  enthusiastic  heart ;  and  night  after 
night  found  him  listening  with  rapt  attention 
to  the  pernicious  doctrines  which,  clothed  in 
such  beautiful  language,  flowed  so  melodious- 
ly from  his  lips. 

This  could  never  have  been  done  without 
his  father's  knowledge,  for  these  meetings 
held  until  past  his  usual  hour  for  retiring, 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER,  85 

and  he  never  allowed  the  slightest  deviation 
from  the  established  rules  of  the  house,  had 
it  not  been  for  the  watchfulness  of  Grace, 
who  idolized  her  brother,  and  whose 
thoughtfulness  had  saved  him  from  many  a 
punishment.  Many  a  night  did  she  glide 
down  to  the  door  to  let  him  in,  upon  hearing 
the  low  whistle  with  which  he  announced 
his  approach  ;  quieting  her  conscience,  which 
sometimes  reproached  her  for  deceiving  her 
father,  by  the  reflection,  that  the  indignation 
and  anger  that  the  knowledge  of  it  would 
call  down  upon  her  brother's  head  would 
only  make  him  still  more  reckless,  and  de- 
terminedly bent  upon  having  his  own  way. 

Earnestly  and  tearfully  did  she  expostulate 
with  him  upon  the  guilt  and  folly  of  his  course, 
and  the  consequences  to  which  it  would 
surely  lead ;  but  it  was  of  little  avail.  Al- 
bert was  tenderly  attached  to  the  gentle  girl, 
and  the  earnestness  of  her  appeal  often 
moved  him ;  and  he  would  kiss  away  the 
tears  from  her  cheek,  assuring  her  that  this 
was  positively  his  last  night,  that  he  would 
not  go  again.  Yet  the  next  night  found  hira 
there,  spell-bound  by  the  seductive  eloquence 
that  was  rapidly  darkening  his  intellect  and 
perverting  his  heart. 


86  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

But  this  could  not  long  continue  unde- 
tected. It  soon  came  to  John's  knowledge, 
who  was  always  on  the  look-out  for  some- 
thing of  which  to  accuse  him,  and  he  lost 
no  time  in  reporting  to  his  father  this  open 
rebellion  against  his  authority.  When  Dea- 
con Richmond  heard  of  it,  his  long  sup- 
pressed wrath  burst  forth  ;  and,  as  is  gener- 
ally the  case  with  those  who  rarely  give  way 
to  their  feelings,  it  was  terrible  in  propor- 
tion to  his  usual  self-control.  That  a  son  of 
his  should  not  only  defy  his  authority,  but 
bring  such  bitter  disgrace  upon  him,  was  not 
to  be  borne.  He  immediately  sought  Al- 
bert, and  in  harsh  and  bitter  language  up- 
braided him  with  his  conduct.  Stung  by 
his  reproaches,  Albert  threw  aside  all  re- 
straint, and  openly  avowed  his  infidelity,  and 
his  detei'mination  to  submit  to  no  dictation 
from  him.  To  the  charge  of  profligacy, 
which  his  father  brought  against  him,  he 
retorted  with  that  of  hypocrisy ;  and  their 
brief  and  stormy  interview  ended  by  his  fa- 
ther commanding  him  to  leave  the  house, 
and  never  to  cross  its  threshold  until  he 
could  come  an  humble  penitent,  confessing 
and  forsaking  his  sins. 

The  high-spirited  youth  did  not  wait  for 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  87 

a  second  bidding ;  but  after  a  hurried  inter- 
view with  his  sister,  who  clung  weeping  to 
him,  he  departed. 

He  went  to  New  York,  which  was  the 
home  of  his  maternal  grandfather,  who 
warmly  welcomed  him  for  the  sake  of  the 
love  he  bore  his  dead  mother,  who  was  his 
favorite  c^ild,  and  soon  became  strongly 
attached  to  him  for  his  own.  His  grandfa- 
ther died  two  years  after,  leaving  him  an  in- 
dependent fortune. 

In  the  mean  time  Grace  Richmond  re- 
mained in  the  gloom  of  her  cheerless  home, 
if  home  it  could  be  called.  She  had  seen  her 
brother  only  once  during  this  interval,  and 
that  was  at  the  house  of  a  common  friend, 
soon  after  the  death  of  their  grandfather. 
During  this  interview  Albert  made  a  strong 
effort  to  induce  his  sister  to  leave  her  father 
and  live  with  him,  assuring  her  that  he 
■would  do  everything  in  his  poAver  to  make 
her  happy.  But  the  affectionate,  conscien- 
tious girl  could  not  be  persuaded  to  take  a 
step  which  she  not  only  felt  would  be  wrong 
in  itself,  but  which  would  tend  still  further 
to  widen  the  breach  between  her  father  and 
brother,  which  she  was  in  hopes  time  would 
entirely  remove. 


88  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

She  inherited  her  mother's  delicacy  of  con- 
stitution ;  and  a  slight  cold  settling  npon  her 
lungs,  rapidly  developed  the  germs  of  the 
fatal  disease  of  which  her  mother  died.  As 
the  disease  progressed,  the  beauty  and  real- 
ity of  her  religion  became  more  and  more 
manifest.  She  was  so  cheerful  and  patient, 
growing  still  more  lovely  in  pereon  as  she 
drew  nearer  to  the  grave,  that  those  who 
looked  upon  her  could  hardly  bring  them- 
selves to  believe  that  she  must  die.  And 
yet  the  hollow  cough,  the  hectic  flush,  the 
feeble  step  told  but  too  plainly  that  the 
places  that  knew  her  now  would  soon  know 
her  no  more  forever. 

Grace  knew  that  the  hand  of  death  was 
upon  her,  and  a  yearning  desire  sprang  up 
in  her  heart  to  behold  once  more  the  way- 
ward but  dear  brother  who  had  been  the 
object  of  so  many  anxious  thoughts.  Her 
conscience  accused  her  of  unfaithfulness  to 
his  best  and  highest  interests,  and  she  longed 
for  an  opportunity  to  convince  him  of  the 
truth  and  reality  of  that  blessed  faith  which 
had  sustained  her  through  so  many  trials, 
and  which  would  soon  bear  her  in  triumph 
over  the  "  dark  river." 

This  desire  became  so  irrepressible  that 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  89 

at  last  she  ventured  to  suggest  it  to  her 
father,  though  he  had  forbidden  Albert's 
name  to  be  mentioned  in  his  presence.  But 
his  look,  as  that  once  familiar  name  fell  upon 
his  ear,  froze  the  words  of  entreaty  upon  her 
lips.  After  sternly  regarding  her  in  silence 
for  a  moment,  he  arose  and  left  the  room ; 
and  Grace  never  could  summon  courage  to 
mention  the  subject  to  him  again. 


90  EBNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   MEETING  BETWEEN  THE  FATHER 
AND  SON. 

A  FEW  weeks  after,  as  Deacon  Richmond 
Avas  seated  at  the  open  window,  a  horse 
dashed  up  to  the  door  covered  with  sweat 
and  foam,  and  Albert  threw  himself  hm-riedly 
from  the  saddle  and  entered  the  gate.  In  a 
few  moments  the  father  and  son  met  face 
to  face. 

Albert  brushed  back  the  moist  hair  from 
his  heated  forehead,  and  cast  a  look  of  eager 
inquiry  upon  his  father,  who  returned  it 
with  a  cold,  scrutinizing  gaze,  that  iron  ex- 
pression settling  slowly  over  every  feature, 
which  Albert  so  well  remembered,  and  which 
showed  him  that  neither  time  nor  absence  had 
softened  his  feelings  toward  him. 

"  Father — "  he  commenced. 

But  the  deacon  interrupted  him.  "  Before 
you  call  me  by  that  name,"  he  said,  "  I  must 
know  whether  you  come  as  the  prodigal  son, 
or  as  the  impious,  rebellious  boy  you  left 
me?" 

A  scornful  smile  flitted  across  the  young 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  91 

man's  face;  but  the  remembrance  of  the  sad 
errand  on  which  he  came  checked  the  bitter 
words  that  arose  to  his  lips.  "I  come  as 
neither,  Deacon  liich.niQnd^''  he  said,  with  a 
marked  emphasis  on  the  concluding  words, 
"but  as  a  brother,  to  see  my  only  sister." 
Then  dropping  this  assumed  composure,  he 
added  more  hurriedly:  "I  have  just  heard 
that  Grace  is  sick,  dying.  It  was  cruel  to 
keep  me  so  long  in  ignorance  of  her  condi- 
tion.   Where  is  she?     Let  me  see  her  at 


once 


t" 


"To  what  purpose?"  said  the  deacon 
sternly.  "  That  you  may  poison  with  your 
accursed  creed  the  pure  spirit  so  near  the 
portals  of  heaven?  Young  man,  I  know 
my  duty  better !  Nothing  shall  tempt  me  to 
place  her  soul  in  such  mortal  peril !  If  that 
is  your  errand,  you  may  as  well  go  at  once, 
for  it  is  a  useless  one !" 

For  a  moment  Albert  remained  silent, 
anger  and  grief  struggling  for  the  mastery 
in  his  heart.  "  If  I  am  no  longer  your  son," 
he  said  at  last,  "  she  is  none  the  less  my  sis- 
ter ;  and  you  cannot,  you  dare  not,  separate 
us  at  such  a  time  as  this !" 

"Dare  not?"  repeated  the  old  man,  his 
temper  rising.     "  You  will  find  that  I  dare 


9^  ERNEST  EICHMOND. 

"be  master  in  my  own  house,  sir.     Leave  it  at 
once,  or  I  will  find  means  to  compel  you." 

Before  Albert  could  reply  the  door  sud 
denly  opened,  and  Grace  glided  into  the 
room,  looking  more  like  a  spirit  than  an  in- 
habitant of  this  world,  in  her  loosely  flowing 
robe,  which  was  scarcely  whiter  than  her 
face. 

For  a  moment  she  paused,  casting  a  look 
of  mournful  reproach  upon  her  father,  and 
then,  with  an  eager  cry  of  joy,  she  threw 
herself  into  her  brother's  arms. 

Albert  took  that  slight  form  up  in  his 
arms  as  though  it  was  an  infant's,  and  then 
holding  her  a  Uttle  way  from  him  looked 
earnestly  into  her  face. 

He  groaned,  in  the  agony  of  his  heart,  as 
he  saw  Jiow  altered  it  was.  "  O,  Grace,"  he 
said,  "  to  come  and  find  you  thus !" 

A  smile  of  unearthly  loveliness  irradiated 
the  young  girl's  face  as,  twining  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  she  nestled  close  to  his 
heart.  "  I  am  happy,  very  happy,"  she  mur- 
mured ;  "  far  happier  than  I  have  words  to 
express.  God  is  very  good  to  me.  He  has 
answered  my  prayers ;  he  has  granted  the 
desire  of  my  heart,  thati^  I  might  see  you  be- 
fore I  died." 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  §3 

"Die  ?"  repeated  Albert,  taking  in  both  of 
his  those  thin  transparent  hands.  "You 
must  not  die,  Grace  !  I  will  take  you  away 
from  this  gloomy  place.  I  have  money,  and 
money  will  often  purchase  health.  We  will 
travel.  I  will  take  you  to  some  milder  cli- 
mate, where  you  will  grow  well  and  strong 
again.  O  could  I  have  done  this  before,  it 
had  not  come  to  this !" 

Grace  raised  her  head  from  her  brother's 
shoulder.  "  Albert,  my  brother,"  she  said 
solemnly,  "  I  am  indeed  going,  but  not  with 
you,  though  you  may  come  after  me  if  you 
only  will.  I  am  going  to  a  fairer  country,  a 
better  home  than  any  that  earth  can  give. 
And  although  you  are  infinitely  dear  to  me, 
and  have  always  been  so  kind,  I  must  tell 
you  that  I  am  going  to  the  arms  of  a  kinder 
Friend,  a  dearer  Brother  than  even  you. 
And  it  was  that  I  might  tell  you  about  this 
friend,  who  is  your  friend  also,  that  I  wanted 
to  see  you.  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  you 
would  not  try  to  meet  me  in  the  home  to 
which  I  am  going.  I  wanted  to  point  out  to 
you  the  way  to  that  home  ;  for  there  is  only 
one  way — " 

Here  she  was  interrupted  by  the  harsh 
voice  of  her  father,  who,  irritated  by  Albert's 


94  ERNEST  RICHMOND. 

endeavors  to  induce  Grace  to  leave  him,  now 
approached  his  son  and  laid  his  hand  heavily 
upon  his  shoulder.  "  Young  man,"  he  said, 
"  is  it  not  enough  that  you  have  forgotten 
the  duty  you  owe  me,  and  disgraced  my 
name  by  your  damnable  heresy,  but  you 
must  come  here  to  defy  me  in  my  own  house, 
and  teach  my  daughter  the  same  lesson  ?" 

"  Grace,"  be  said,  turning  to  his  daughter, 
"  you  are  my  child,  and  it  is  your  duty  to 
obey  me.  Retire  to  your  own  room,  I  com- 
mand you !" 

"  Father,"  said  Grace  imploringly,  "  Al- 
bert is  your  son  and  my  brother.  If  he  has 
erred — " 

"  If  he  has  erred  ?"  repeated  the  deacon, 
interrupting  her.  "  But  I  will  not  argue 
with  you,  but  insist  on  your  obedience. 
And  now,  Grace,  listen  to  me,"  he  added 
impressively  as  she  still  hesitated.  "  Come 
with  me,  and  the  blessing  of  your  father  and 
your  father's  God  will  be  yours.  Remain 
with  your  brother,  and  you  wUl  share  not 
only  his  disobedience,  but  the  curse  that  his 
own  conduct  has  brought  down  upon  his 
head." 

"This  is  terrible,"  mm^mured  the  poor 
girl,  as,  summoning  all  her  strength,  she  un- 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  9,5 

clasped  her  brother's  arms  and  stood  up  be- 
fore them. 

"  Grace,"  said  her  brother,  "  when  our 
mother  was  dying  she  placed  your  hand  in 
mine,  bidding  me  watch  over  and  care  for 
you.  I  have  come  to  redeem  that  promise. 
Do  not  leave  me ;  my  claim  is  more  sacred 
than  his." 

Grace  looked  upon  the  old  man,  who  stood 
before  her,  with  his  gray  hair  and  venerable 
aspect,  invested  with  the  sacred  authority  of 
a  father;  and  .then  upon  the  brother,  so 
tenderly  and  well  beloved.  The  fearful 
struggle  going  on  in  that  gentle  heart  was 
too  much  for  the  slender  frame.  Her  cheeks 
flushed  and  paled,  her  breath  came  quick 
and  gaspingly,  and  the  blue  veins  upon  the 
clear,  transparent  forehead  stood  out^like 
cords.  Suddenly  she  placed  her  hand  upon 
her  side,  while  a  sharp  cry  burst  from  her 
lips.  The  next  moment  she  fell  into  her 
brother's  arms,  the  blood  gushing  from  her 
mouth  and  nostrils. 

Upon  the  garments  of  the  horror-struck 
father,  over  the  hands  and  bosom  of  the  well- 
nigh  distracted  brother,  the  crimson  current 
flowed,  bearing  with  it  the  life  of  the  gen« 
tie-hearted  girl. 


96  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

Before  the  dawning  of  another  day  Grace 
Richmond  died ;  or  rather,  she  was  born 
into  that  kingdom  the  inhabitants  of  which 
never  die. 

A  little  while  before  she  breathed  her  last 
she  unclosed  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  earn- 
estly upon  her  brother,  who  was  standing  by 
the  bed.  Then  raising  her  hand,  she  pointed 
to  a  well-worn  volume  upon  a  table  at  a  little 
distance.  When  Albert  brought  it  to  her 
she  said,  "  It  was  our  mother's,  I  give  it  to 
you."  She  tried  to  say  something  further, 
but  it  was  inaudible ;  and  in  a  few  moments, 
with  not  a  sigh  or  struggle,  she  fell  asleep. 

They  laid  Grace  Richmond  beside  her 
mother.  Side  by  side  the  father  and  son 
stood,  as  chief  mourners  of  the  gentle  girl 
who  had  striven  so  earnestly  to  bring 
together  those  alienated  hearts,  but  whose 
death  had  still  more  imbittered  them. 

In  accordance  with  a  time-honored  cus- 
tom, the  funeral  was  ifi  the  large,  old-fash- 
ioned church  in  which  Albert  had  sat  so 
many  Aveary  hours  beside  the  sister  who 
was  now  lying  dead  before  him.  And 
when,  after  seating  himself,  he  raised  his 
eyes  to  the  pulpit,  he  saw  the  same  vener- 
able man  whom  he  had  so  often  looked  upon 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  97 

with  childish  awe,  and  who  had  stood  in 
tliat  desk  over  twenty  years. 

It  had  been  noised  through  the  town  that 
Deacon  Richmond's  son  had  returned,  and 
that  the  altercation  which  had  ensued  between 
them  had  shortened  his  sister's  life ;  jind,  as 
is  too  often  the  case,  the  blame  was  laid  on 
the  party  least  worthy  of  it.  So  curiosity 
filled  the  church  to  overflowing.  And  when 
the  pastor,  in  addressing  the  afflicted  father, 
spoke  not  only  of  the  bereavement  by  death, 
but  of  a  living  sorrow,  and  prayed  "that 
this  sad  event  might  be  the  means  of  bring- 
ing back  the  son  that  was  lost,"  many  eyes 
turned  to  the  place  where  Albert  Richmond 
sat.  But  his  eyes  did  not  droop,  or  his 
brow  blench  ;  he  returned  their  gaze  with  a 
look  of  haughty  defiance. 

Calmly,  as  though  it  was  something  with 
which  he  had  nothing  to  do,  he  watched  the 
ceremony  (that  in  his  heart  he  termed  a  sense- 
less mummery)  which  consigned  to  the  grave 
the  being  he  loved  best  on  earth.  Though  he 
was  well-known  to  most  of  those  present,  no 
one  approached  him  with  friendly  greeting 
or  word  of  comfort.  There  was  something 
in  his  look  that  forbade  the  approach  of  im- 
pertinent curiosity,  and  those  who  remem- 


98  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

bered  him  as  a  frank,  generous-hearted  boy, 
and  who  looked  upon  him  with  mingled  love 
and  pity,  were  held  back  by  the  knowledge 
of  the  strange  and  fearful  doctrines  that  he 
had  avowed,  rumors  of  which  had  reached 
them. 

"When  the  last  sad  office  was  over,  and  the 
people  Avere  about  to  disperse,  the  venerable 
pastor  approached  the  spot  where  Albert 
stood,  with  folded  arms  and  gloomy  brow, 
and  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  the  new-made 
grave.  With  well-meaning,  but  injudicious 
zeal,  he  addressed  a  few  words  of  exhorta- 
tion to  him;  the  purport  of  which  was, 
"  that  he  hoped  that  his  sister's  death  would 
be  a  warning  to  him,  leading  him  to  repent- 
ance, and  winning  him  back  to  the  obedience 
he  owed  to  his  father  and  God." 

This  was  more  than  the  unhappy  young 
man  could  bear,  and  his  long  suppressed 
feelings  found  vent  in  words.  There,  stand- 
ing by  his  sister's  grave,  and  before  the  as- 
sembled crowd,  in  language  terribly  impress- 
ive, he  denounced  his  father  as  a  murderer, 
reviling  in  the  bitterest  terms  the  religion 
which  had,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  made  him 
rfiotherless  and  sisterless." 

The  look  of  horror  upon  the  old  man's 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  99 

countenance  as  he  heard  these  words  was 
rapidly  communicated  to  the  group  around 
him.  "  Let  him  alone,"  he  said,  addressing 
them.  "  Go  not  near  him,  lest  jo\x  share  in 
his  awful  guilt.  God  has  given  him  up  to 
the  power  of  the  evil  one.  He  has  com- 
mitted the  unpardonable  sin.  There  is  no 
more  hope  for  him." 

Perhaps  the  reader  will  share  in  this  feel- 
ing, and  believe  that  one  who  could  thus 
speak  at  such  a  time  as  this  to  be,  indeed, 
past  redemption.  But  praise  be  to  His  name 
who  forsakes  us  not  when  we  forsake  him, 
and  who  gives  us  not  up  when  we  are  given 
up  by  all  others,  he  was  not  past  all  hope. 
He  who  bought  us  with  the  price  of  his  own 
blood  willed  not  that  the  child  of  a  praying 
mother,  and  of  a  pious,  though  woefuUy  mis- 
»taken  father  should  be  wholly  lost. 
7 


100  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

MR.   RICHMOND'S   UNHAPPY   MARRIAGE. 

We  have  dwelt  at  length  upon  the  unwise 
treatment  and  false  education  which  turned 
the  gifted  and  generous-hearted  Albert  Rich- 
mond into  the  dark  labyrinth  of  infidelity, 
not  only  that  the  reader  may  judge  him 
charitably,  but  that  parents  may  take  warn- 
ing by  the  sad  lesson.  That  they  may  re- 
member that  undue  restraint  and  restriction 
fi'om  the  innocent  pleasures  of  youth,  by  the 
law  of  reaction,  often  leads  in  after  life  to  the 
extreme  of  the  wildest  profligacy,  as  does  a 
narrow,  unreasoning  bigotry  to  that  of  the 
darkest  infidelity.  , 

Albert  Richmond  returned  to  New  York. 
Disowned  by  his  father  and  brother,  the 
death  of  his  grandfather  had  left  him  alone 
in  the  world,  and,  to  dissipate  the  sad  and 
lonely  feelings  caused  by  the  loss  of  his  sis- 
ter, he  plunged  without  restraint  into  all  the 
fashionable  folUes  of  the  metropolis,  not  un- 
contaminated,  alas !  by  some  of  its  grosser 
vices.     But  the  dissatisfied  and  weary  feel- 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  101 

ing  with  which  he  at  last  turned  away,  and 
the  reproaches  which  would  sting  him  in  his 
calmer  moments  at  this  criminal  misapplica- 
cation  of  his  time  and  talents,  showed  that 
his  was  not  a  nature  that  could  yield  itself 
up  to  the  dominion  of  vice  without  a  strug- 
gle, and  was  one  of  the  strongest  proofs  of 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  which  in  his 
blindness  he  denied. 

Weary  of  the  life  he  was  leading,  and 
possessing  a  social  and  affectionate  nature, 
he  determined  to  have  something  to  love 
and  care  for.  His  ardent,  enthusiastic  heart 
pictured  a  bright  and  happy  home,  the  pre- 
siding genius  of  which  was  a  gentle  and 
lovely  woman,  in  whose  love  and  companion- 
ship he  should  find  the  rest  and  tranquillity 
that  he  had  vainly  sought  for  elsewhere.  It 
was  in  this  mood  that  he  met  the  beautiful 
Julia  Weston.  A  warm  admirer  of  beauty, 
he  committed  the  not  uncommon  mistake  of 
supposing  that  its  possesser  united  with  it 
every  possible  virtue,  and  did  not  discover 
his  mistake  until  it  was  too  late  to  rectify  it. 

It  was  not  until  after  his  marriage  that  he 
discovered  that  the  being  on  whom  he  had 
lavished  the  warmest  feelings  of  his  heart 
was  but  a  gilded  butterfly,  formed  to  glitter 


102  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

in  the  sunlight  of  the  fashionable  "world,  but 
not  to  make  a  happy  home. 

His  own  lavish  expenditures,  and  his 
■wife's  extravagant  habits,  soon  dissipated 
the  larger  part  of  his  fine  fortune.  Whether 
it  was  this  fact,  or  that  some  nobler  ambition 
awoke  in  his  bosom,  he  roused  himself  from 
the  aimless  life  he  was  leading,  and  collect- 
ing together  the  remainder  of  his  property, 
retired  into  one  of  the  suburban  towns, 
Avhere  he  commenced  the  practice  of  the  law, 
for  which  he  had  studied  some  years  before, 
and  in  which  the  peculiar  bent  of  his  mind 
made  him  unusually  successful. 

He  used  often  to  lecture  upon  his  favorite 
theme,  "  the  light  of  reason,"  and  the  over- 
throw of  what  he  termed  "  the  dominion  of 
priestcraft."  He  was  also  noted  for  being 
the  author  of  a  number  of  able  articles,  con- 
tributed to  kindred  periodicals,  distinguished 
alike  for  their  ingenious  reasoning,  and  their 
bitter  hostility  to  Christianity  in  all  its  forms, 
by  which  he  disseminated  his  unholy  doc- 
trines far  and  near. 

Yet  neither  the  sentiments  he  avowed,  or 
the  principles  he  advocated,  ,bad  as  they 
were,  could  entirely  warp  a  character  natu- 
rally upright  and  noble,  nor  divest  it  of  its 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER,  103 

many  generous  and  noble  qualities.  His 
conduct  in  many  of  the  relations  of  life 
might  have  been  safely  imitated  by  some 
professing  a  far  holier  faith.  He  was  an  in- 
dulgent husband,  a  kind  father,  and  a  warm 
friend.  With  quick  and  active  sympathies, 
he  never  turned  away  from  the  cry  of  the 
poor  and  needy,  but  gave  them  relief  with  a 
liberal  hand. 

These  qualities,  together  with  his  fine  per- 
son and  affable  manners,  made  him  a  general 
favorite,  especially  among  the  young  and 
thoughtless,  who  failed  to  detect  the  deadly 
poison  which  lurked  beneath  his  honeyed 
words,  but  whose  effects  could  be  seen  upon 
their  lives  and  characters.  Alas  for  those 
who  thus  pervert  the  glorious  gifts  of  God, 
turning  them  against  the  generous  hand  who 
gave  them ! 

Mrs.  Richmond  returned  the  devoted  love 
lavished  upon  her  by  her  husband  the  first 
few  months  of  their  marriage  with  an  indif- 
ference often  more  wounding  than  positive 
dislike;  while  her  frivolous  character,  and 
inattention  to  his  wishes  and  comfort,  gradu- 
ally weaned  his  heart  from  her. 

The  feelings  which  met  with  so  little  re- 
turn in  this  holiest  of  all  relations,  centered 


104  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

with  engrossing  aiFection  npon  the  three 
children  who  were  born  to  him.  But  God 
heard  his  impious  resolve,  that  they  should 
be  taught  to  despise  and  reject  Him  who  be- 
came a  little  child  for  their  sakes,  and  one 
by  one,  Just  as  their  infantine  smiles  and  en- 
dearments were  making  them  so  precious  in 
his  eyes,  they  were  taken  from  him. 

Just  a  year  from  the  day  that  his  last  dar- 
ling was  laid  in  the  grave,  another  child  was 
given  him,  a  son.  As  he  grew  in  strength 
and  beauty,  he  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to 
the  dear  sister  whom  Mr.  Richmond  had 
never  forgotten.  He  had  the  same  clear, 
transparent  skin,  deep  blue  eyes,  and  golden 
hair  that  he  so  well  remembered,  and  the 
same  sweet,  affectionate  disposition. 

The  unusual  intelligence  he  evinced  was 
the  source  of  much  self-congratulation,  and 
he  formed  many  bright  anticipations  of  his 
career  in  after  life.  It  was  his  intention  to 
bring  him  up  in  total  ignorance  of  the  truths 
of  revealed  religion,  until,  to  use  his  own 
words,  "  he  arrived  at  an  age  to  discern  be- 
tween the  true  and  the  false.  He  would 
then  instruct  him  in  the  religion  of  nature 
and  of  reason,  which  was  to  overthrow  all 
priestly    power    and    superstitious    bigotry 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  105 

throughout  the  world,  and  bring  about  the 
glorious  reign  of  universal  freedom,  of  which 
he  was  to  become  the  apostle." 

In  order  to  effect  this,  he  carefully  se- 
cluded him  from  all  books  and  companion- 
ship which  could  possibly  give  him  any  idea 
of  religion.  In  his  anxiety  to  avert  this,  he 
employed  for  his  tutor  a  man  whose  views 
corresponded  with  his  own. 

But  alas  for  all  his  carefully  laid  plans. 
Unexpected  business  called  him  West. 
Through  unavoidable  delay,  the  absence  of 
weeks  lengthened  into  months,  during 
which  time  God  filled  with  the  light  of  his 
truth  the  heart  that  he  would  have  doomed 
to  the  blindness  of  unbelief. 

In  accordance  with  the  resolution  ex- 
pressed in  a  foregoing  chapter,  Mr.  Rich- 
mond consulted  Dr.  Manning  in  regard  to 
Ernest,  who,  after  a  careful  examination,  re- 
lieved his  anxiety  by  the  assurance  that 
there  was  no  actual  disease,  but  a  general 
weakness  and  predisposition  to  consumption, 
which  with  careful  and  judicious  treatment 
he  would  probably  outgrow.  He  was  not 
one  of  those  physicians  who  swell  their  bills 
by  administering  medicine  which  is  useless, 
if  not  positively  injurious ;  so  he  prescribed 


106  ERNEST   RICHMOND 

nothing  but  a  simple  diet,  regular,  though 
gentle  exercise  in  the  open  air,  and  freedom 
from  all  excitement. 

The  amount  of  business  which  had  accu- 
mulated during  Mr.  Richmond's  absence 
engrossed  so  much  of  his  time  and  attention 
that  he  was  very  little  with  Ernest,  so  that 
it  was  some  days  before  he  discovered  that 
his  darling  scheme  was  defeated. 

Since  Mr.  Richmond's  return,  from  mo- 
tives of  delicacy,  Ruth  never  entered  the 
room  set  apart  for  Ernest,  though  it  was 
hard  to  resist  his  entreaties,  for  he  was  too 
young  to  appreciate  her  feelings.  But  in 
her  own  apartments,  and  in  the  garden,  that 
was  common  to  them  both,  their  intercourse 
was  as  unrestrained  as  ever.  She  often  met 
Mr.  Richmond  in  the  latter  place,  but  his 
pleasant  word  and  smile  of  recognition  indi- 
cated that  he  did  not  regard  her  intimacy 
with  Ernest  with  anything  like  disapproval, 
and  Ruth  began  to  hope  that  he  was,  to  say 
the  least,  indiiferent  as  to  his  son's  religious 
views. 

But  soon  an  incident  occurred  which 
showed  her  the  fallacy  of  these  hopes,  and 
the  strength  and  bitterness  of  his  preju- 
dices. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  107 

Anxious  that  Ernest  should  have  as  much 
out-door  exercise  as  possible,  he  bought  him 
•  a  little  pony,  a  gentle  and  docile  creature, 
upon  which  he  used  to  ride  every  pleasant 
day.  One  morning,  as  the  pony  was  brought 
up  to  the  door,  Mr.  Richmond  observed  that 
the  beautiful  and  expensive  saddle  was  very 
much  defaced  and  injured.  Irritated  by  the 
carelessness  of  the  groom,  he  turned  to  him, 
and  with  a  fierce  oath  demanded  an  expla- 
nation. 

Ernest  was  standing  upon  the  steps  with 
Lis  riding-whip  in  his  hand,  and  his  blue  vel- 
vet cap  upon  his  head  with  its  snowy  plumes, 
his  eyes  sparkling,  and  his  cheeks  glowing 
with  the  anticipated  pleasure,  eager  to  start. 

As  his  father  turned  to  lift  him  to  the 
saddle,  he  could  not  help  observing  his 
altered  looks ;  the  glow  of  excitement  had 
feded  from  his  face,  and  there  was  a  grieved 
and  troubled  expression  upon  it.  "You 
must  not  feel  badly  about  the  saddle,  Ern- 
est,"  he  said.  "I  think  that  it  can  be  re- 
paired, if  not  I  will  get  you  another." 

"It  is  not  that,  papa,"  returned  Ernest, 
shrinking  away  from  his  father's  arms. 
"  But  O  it  sounds  so  dreadful  to  hear  you 
swear  so !" 


108  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Richmond  remained 
silent  from  astonishment.  Then  rallying,  he 
said  lightly,  "It  is  an  ungentlemanly  habit 
I  own,  Ernest,  and  I  have  often  tried  to 
break  myself  of  it ;  but  when  once  formed  it 
is  not  so  easy.  Yet  surely  there  is  nothing 
in  what  I  said  to  make  you  tremble  and  look 
so  pale.  They  are  foolish  and  empty  words 
which  signify  nothing." 

"Dear  papa,"  said  Ernest,  throwing  his 
arms  around  his  father's  neck,  "  do  not  be 
angry  with  me,  but  to  me  they  seem  more 
wicked  than  foolish." 

A  crimson  flush  mounted  to  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's face.  "  Wicked,  Ernest  ?"  he  said. 
"  Who  told  you  that  they  were  wicked  ?" 

"  The  Bible  says  so,  papa,"  returned  Ern- 
est, in  the  tone  of  one  who  advances  an  un- 
answerable argument. 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  Bible, 
Ernest  ?  Where  have  you  seen  one  ?  Not 
in  my  house,  for  I  harbor  no  such  trash." 

Ernest  shrank  before  the  stern  glance 
directed  toward  him,  for  a  sudden  recollec- 
tion entered  his  mind  of  what  Thomas 
Conway  had  told  him,  and  he  remained 
silent. 

"Answer  me,  Ernest,"  repeated  his  father, 


AND  mS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  109 

irritated  by  this  delay.  "  Where  have  you 
seen  a  Bible  ?" 

"The  first  one  I  saw  was  in  Miss  Sid- 
ney's room.  But  afterward  she  gave  me 
one  for  my  own ;  a  real  pretty  one,  with  gilt 
leaves,  and  a  red  morocco  cover,"  replied 
Ernest  in  low  and  tremulous  tones,  for  the 
unusual  sternness  in  his  father's  look  and 
voice  frightened  him. 

Just  at  this  juncture  a  gentleman  ap- 
proached Mr.  Richmond  on  urgent  business, 
and  consigning  Ernest  to  the  care  of  the 
groom,  he  left  him. 


110  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

THE  INFIDEL   FATHER  SILENCED. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  when  Mr.  Richmond 
ascended  again  the  steps  of  his  house.  His 
thoughts  had  been  too  busily  engaged  with  an 
important  case  he  was  about  to  defend,  for 
them  to  revert  to  the  conversation  he  had 
had  with  Ernest  in  the  morning;  but  as 
soon  as  he  had  leisure  to  think  of  it  his 
brow  clouded,  and  a  feeling  of  impatience 
entered  his  heart  at  the  oversight  of  which 
he  had  been  guilty. 

"  How  careless  I  have  been,"  he  muttered 
to  himself  as  he  entered  the  house.  "I 
might  have  known,  from  her  looks,  that  Miss 
Sidney  was  one  of  those  very  good  sort  of 
people  who  would  be  sure  to  fill  his  head 
with  just  such  notions.  But  it  is  too  late  to 
think  of  that  now.  I  must  remove  him  at 
once  from  her  influence.  Ernest  is  so  young, 
that  it  is  not  probable  that  these  ideas  are 
very  firmly  fixed  in  his  mind." 

It  was  in  no  pleasant  frame  of  mind  that 
he  seated  himself  at  the  supper  table ;  and  as 


AND   HTS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  Ill 

Mrs.  Richmond  had  been  waiting  for  him 
some  time,  she  was  in  no  very  amiable  humor 
either,  but  kept  up  a  series  of  fretful  com- 
plainings in  an  under  tone,  to  which  her  hus- 
band deigned  no  reply,  but  which,  never- 
theless, grated  harshly  on  his  nerves. 

"Where  is  Ernest?"  he  asked  abruptly 
as,  turning  to  the  place  where  he  usually 
sat,  he  missed  the  dear  child,  who  always 
greeted  him  with  the  same  happy  smile  and 
loving  glance. 

"He  is  in  bed,  I  suppose,"  was  the  un- 
gracious reply.  "The  poor  little  fellow 
waited  half  an  hour  beyond  his  usual  bed- 
time in  hopes  of  seeing  you.  If  you  have  no 
regard  for  my  feelings,  I  should  think  you 
would  have  some  for  his.  I  really  supposed 
that  you  had  some  affection  for  Ernest;  I 
have  long  since  given  up  the  idea  that  you 
had  any  for  me." 

"low  have  a  right  to  reproach  me  for 
my  neglect  of  duty,"  said  her  husband  sar- 
castically, "  who  are  such  a  devoted  wife  and 
careful  mother.  It  is  business  that  calls  me 
from  home,  and  not  a  love  for  fashion  and 
display,  which  are  contemptible  in  any  one, 
but  doubly  so  in  a  woman  of  your  age." 

"Business,  indeed,"  retorted  Mrs.  Rich: 


112  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

mond,  tossing  her  head.  "  You  may  dignify 
by  the  name  of  business,  if  you  choose,  the 
clubs,  meetings,  and  lectures  at  which  you 
spend  half  your  time,  but  I^ni  not  so  easily 
blinded.  If  the  truth  was  known,  I  wonder 
which  of  us  would  be  thought  to  neglect 
their  family  the  most." 

Mr.  Richmond's  conscience  told  him  that 
there  was  some  truth  in  this,  but  the  con- 
sciousness of  it  served  only  to  increase  his 
irritability.  "A  woman's  proper  place  is 
home,"  he  said.  "And  to  speak  plainly, 
Julia,  I  am  not  at  all  pleased  with  the  way 
you  have  managed  during  my  absence.  I 
left  strict  injunctions  that  Ernest  was  to  as- 
sociate with  no  one,  and  it  seems  that  you 
have  given  him  up  entirely  to  the  control  of 
Miss  Sidney." 

Mrs.  Richmond  opened  her  eyes  to  their 
fullest  extent.  "  If  you  are  not  the  most  in- 
consistent man  in  the  world,"  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  was  only  yesterday  that  you  were  speak- 
ing about  Miss  Sidney,  and  her  kindness  to 
Ernest,  and  wishing  that  I  was  a  little  more 
like  her." 

Mr.  Richmond  colored  as  he  remembered 
how  warmly  he  had  praised  her.  "^I  did 
not  know  until  this  morning,"  he  said,  "  of 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  113 

Miss  Sidney's  religious  tendencies,  of  which 
you  were  well  aware.  You  knew,  also,  had 
I  known  them,  that  I  should  have  been  the 
last  person  in  the  world  to  have  encouraged 
her  intimacy  with  Ernest." 

"How  ridiculous!  What  possible  harm 
can  her  religion  do  the  child  ?  I  am  sure  he 
behaves  a  great  deal  better  since  he  has 
been  with  her.  I  declare,  you  are  the 
strangest  man,  Albert,  and  have  such  out  of 
the  way  ideas.  I  can't  imagine  for  the  life 
of  me  where  you  got  them.  Here  I  have 
been  imploring  you  for  the  last  three  weeks 
to  buy  or  hire  a  pew  in  Rev.  Mr.  Day's 
new  church,  and  you  wont  hear  a  word  to 
it.  Mr.  Day  is  a  splendid  preacher.  The 
most  fashionable  people  go  there.  It  does 
look  so  heathenish  for  one  to  absent  one's 
self  from  church  all  the  year  round  in  the 
way  that  you  do.  And  to  bring  up  Ernest 
with  the  same  notions  too.  I  do  wish  that 
you  were  a  little  more  like  other  people,  if  it 
was  only  for  the  appearance  of  things." 

"For  the  appearance  of  things!"  repeated 
her  husband ;  "  that  is  all  half  the  women 
go  to  church  for,  and  the  other  half  to  hear 
some  popular  preacher  and  to  display  their 
finery.     Go  where  you  please  to  church,  but 


114  ERNEST   RICHMOND 

not  a  cent  of  my  money,  not  a  particle  of  my 
influence,  shall  go  to  build  up  a  system  which 
has  wrought  me  so  much  evil !  I  am  no 
hypocrite  myself,  neither  do  I  wish  my  son 
to  be  one.  And  I  desire  that  you  will  see 
that  Ernest  and  Miss  Sidney  have  nothing 
more  to  say  to  each  other." 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing,  Mr.  Richmond. 
If  you  choose  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself, 
well  and  good ;  but  I  wash  my  hands  of  the 
whole  affair !  Yon  have  the  full  use  of  your 
tongue,  I  perceive,  and  can  speak  to  Mar- 
garet about  it.  She  will  do  as  you  tell  her, 
I  presume.  For  my  part,  I  should  think 
you  intended  to  make  an  idiot  of  the  boy, 
■  shutting  him  up  from  everybody,  I  shouldn't 
be  at  all  surprised  if  you  forbid  my  speaking 
to  him  next,  or  anybody  else,  save  your  own 
immaculate  self." 

Mr.  Richmond's  lip  curled.  "Do  not 
fear,  madam,"  he  said ;  "  there  is  not  enough 
religion  in  your  composition  to  give  me  the 
least  uneasiness,  I  assure  you.  And  even  if 
there  was,  you  are  too  much  a  stranger  to 
him  to  render  any  precaution  necessary." 

When  Mr.  Richmond  arose  from  the  table 
he  went  to  Ernest's  room.  As  he  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  door,  he  heard  the  murmur  of 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  115 

a  soft,  childish  "voice.  He  opened  it,  and 
what  a  sight  was  there !  and  what  a  contrast 
to  the  stormy  scene  through  which  he  had 
just  passed ! 

Robed  in  his  snowy  night-dress,  Ernest 
was  kneeling  by  the  bedside,  repeating  his 
evening  prayer.  The  rays  of  the  moon,  that 
was  just  rising,  feU  full  upon  the  upturned 
brow  and  lifted  eyes,  revealing  distinctly 
their  pure  and  holy  expression.  It  was  a 
sight  upon  which  angels  gaze  with  holy  rap- 
ture, and  which  would  have  thrilled  a  Chris- 
tian parent's  heart  with  joy ;  but  it  awoke  far 
different  feelings  in  the  breast  of  the  infidel 
father,  who  saw  in  it  the  frustration  of  all 
his  carefully  laid  plans. 

His  slippered  feet  fell  so  noiselessly  upon 
the  soft  carpet  that  Ernest  did  not  notice  his 
approach.  "What  is  the  meaning  of  this 
nonsense,  Ernest  ?"  he  said,  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  boy's  shoulder. 

Ernest  stai'ted  to  his  feet  and  cast  a  fright- 
ened look  at  his  father's  face.  But  as  soon 
as  he  realized  who  it  was  its  expression 
changed  to  one  of  love  and  joy.  "I  was 
afraid  that  I  should  not  see  you  again  to- 
night, papa,"  he  said  as,  clinging  to  him,  he 
laid  his  head  against  his  breast. 
8 


116  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

O  the  magical  power  of  love !  Mr.  Rich- 
mond brushed  back  the  golden  curls,  and 
stooping,  kissed  his  forehead.  "  I  was  unar 
voidably  detained,  my  child,"  he  said  in  a 
low,  musical  voice,  which  was  in  strong  con- 
trast to  his  former  tone. 

Then  taking  a  seat,  he  placed  Ernest  upon 
his  knee.  "  What  were  you  doing  when  I 
came  into  the  room,  Ernest?"  he  said  in  a 
serious  tone. 

"  I  was  praying,  papa." 

"  To  whom  were  you  praying  ?" 

"  To  God,"  replied  the  boy,  casting  a  rev- 
erent look  upward. 

"  By  praying  to  God,  I  suppose  yo-u  mei»,ii 
that  you  were  talking  to  him  ?" 

"Yes,  papa." 

•'  Where  is  he  ?  I  did  not  see  any  one  in 
the  room  when  I  came  in.  We  generally 
suppose  the  person  to  be  present  to  whom 
we  are  speaking." 

Ernest  looked  puzzled,  and  cast  a  furtive 
glance  into  his  father's  face,  to  see  if  he  was 
not  jesting.  But  reassured  by  his  grave 
countenance,  he  said  timidly,  "God  is  not 
like  us,  papa,  he  is  a  Spirit.  We  cannot  see 
him,  though  he  is  everywhere  present,  and 
can  hear  all  we  say  and  see  all  we  do." 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  117 

"  Do  you  think  that  he  hears  what  we  are 
saying  now,  Ernest  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  papa." 

"  What  makes  you  so  sure  of  it  ?" 

"Because  the  Bible  says  that  he  knows 
not  only  all  that  we  say  and  do,  but  every 
thought  of  our  hearts." 

"  But,  Ernest,  other  books  speak  falsely ; 
why  should  not  the  Bible?" 

"  Because  the  Bible  is  God's  word,  papa, 
and  God  cannot  lie." 

Mr.  Richmond  looked  steadily  into  Ernest's 
face  for  a  moment  without  speaking.  The 
clearness  and  directness  of  his  answers,  and 
the  implicitness  of  his  faith,  puzzled  him.  He 
saw  that  the  religion  he  had  so  much 
dreaded  had  taken  a  far  stronger  hold  upon 
his  mind  than  he  had  supposed, 

"  Don't  you  think  that  I  am  a  great  deal 
wiser  than  you  are,  Ernest?"  he  inquired 
after  a  pause. 

"Yes,  papa." 

"And  that  I  am  better  able  to  decide 
what  is  right  and  wrong  than  you  are  ?" 

"  I  know  that  too,  papa." 

"Well,  Ernest,  I  do  not  believe  that  the 
Bible  is  true,  or  that  there  is  any  such  being 
as  the  God  it  tells  about." 


118  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

For  a  moment  Ernest  looked  searchingly 
into  his  father's  eyes,  and  then  hid  his  face 
in  his  bosom.  "Thomas  Conway  told  me 
so,"  he  said,  "but  I  didn't  believe  it.  O 
papa,  I  am  sorry,  so  sorry  !" 

"  What  makes  you  sorry,  Ernest  ?" 

"O  because  it  seems  so  sad,  and  you 
must  be  so  unhappy." 

Mr.  Richmond  smiled.  There  was  some- 
thing so  artless  and  affectionate  in  this  that 
he  could  not  be  angry. 

"  But,  Ernest,  don't  you  think  that  I  am 
more  capable  of  deciding  as  to  what  is  true 
and  false  than  you  are  ?" 

"  Yes,  papa,  but — '* 

"But  what,  Ernest?  You  need  not  be 
afraid  to  tell  me  just  what  you  think." 

"I  was  thinking,  papa,  of  what  I  read 
this  morning,  that  God  reveals  unto  babes 
like  me  what  he  hides  from  the  wise  and 
prudent." 

O  infant  Solomon,  wise  with  the  wisdom 
not  of  this  world,  well  might  you  say  that  f 

Again  was  the  infidel  father,  with  all  his 
boasted  lore,  silenced. 

"You  are  not  old  enough  to  imderstand 
these  things,  Ernest,"  he  said  at  last.  "When 
you  have  grown  to  be  a  man,  and  are  capable 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER,  119 

of  understanding  the  books  that  I  shall  then 
put  into  your  hands,  you  will  view  these 
things  differently." 

"  It  is  not  certain  that  I  shall  live  to  be  a 
man,  papa." 

"  What  makes  you  say  that,  Ernest  ?" 
said  his  father,  an  anxious  expression  flitting 
across  his  face.  "Don't  you  feel  well  to- 
night? I  thought  you  were  growing 
stronger  of  late." 

"01  did  not  mean  that,  papa,"  said  Ern- 
est quickly,  noticing  his  father's  troubled 
look.  "  I  am  not  sick.  But  a  great  many 
little  boys  die  younger  than  me." 

"  I  know,"  said  his  father  gloomily,  as  his 
thoughts  reverted  to  the  dear  children  he 
had  followed  to  the  grave.  "  But  you  must 
not  think  about  such  things ;  it  is  bad  for  you. 
And  now  good  night,  my  son." 


120  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MR.     RICHMOND'S     CONVERSATION     WITH 
RUTH, 

Ernest's  gentle,  but  steadfast  persistence 
in  his  belief  both  annoyed  and  surprised  his 
father;  but  he  was  too  politic  to  show  it, 
and  too  well  acquainted  with  human  nature 
to  attempt  to  eradicate  it  by  harsh  and 
severe  measures.  He  thought,  at  first,  that 
he  would  take  his  Bible  from  him,  but  con- 
cluded upon  reflection  to  let  him  retain  it  for 
the  present,  hoping,  by  substituting  other 
books  and  amusements,  gradually  to  wean 
him  from  the  subject,  which  now  so  strongly 
engrossed  his  mind.  He  was  resolved,  how- 
ever, to  separate  him  entirely  from  Ruth, 
and  gave  strict  orders  to  Margaret  that  she 
was  on  no  account  to  allow  him  to  go  into 
her  rooms,  or  be  in  her  society ;  which,  as 
she  had  long  been  jealous  of  Ruth's  superior 
influence  over  her  charge,  and  the  confidence 
that  Mrs.  Richmond  reposed  in  her,  she 
lost  no  time  in  obeying. 

There  was  something  in  the  gentle  dig- 
nity of  Ruth's  manner,  the  consistency  of 


Ruth's    Disappointment. 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  123 

her  couduct,  its  unobtrusiveness,  and  absence 
from  all  attempts  at  display,  that  awoke  an 
involuntary  feeling  of  respect  in  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's heart,  and  induced  him  to  believe 
that  religion  was  not  with  her  a  mere  pre- 
tense, but  a  solemn  reality.  The  extreme 
affection  she  evinced  for  Ernest,  and  her 
many  acts  of  disinterested  kindness,  appealed 
warmly  to  his  generous  nature,  and  he  de- 
termined that  he  would  see  her,  and  by  explain- 
ing his  motives  convince  her  that  it  was  no 
feelings  of  ill-will  that  induced  him  to  act 
thus,  but  a  conscientious  regard  for  the  well- 
being  of  his  child.  But  it  was  au  unpleasant 
duty,  and  some  days  elapsed  before  he  put 
it  into  execution. 

In  the  mean  time  Ruth  felt  sadly  the  loss 
of  her  little  friend  and  companion.  At  first 
she  feared  that  he  was  sick ;  but  the  occa- 
sional glimpses  she  obtained  of  him  in  the 
garden,  accompanied  by  Margaret,  relieved 
her  anxiety.  Once,  obeying  an  uncontroll- 
able impulse,  she  went  out  into  the  garden 
to  speak  to  him.  But  as  soon  as  Margaret 
observed  her  approach  she  drew  the  evi- 
dently reluctant  child  into  the  house,  with  a 
look  and  .air  which  convinced  Ruth  that  she 
acted  by  a  higher  authority  than  her  own. 


124  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

She  was  confirmed  in  this  suspicion  the 
next  morning  by  a  conversation  between 
Ernest  and  Margaret.  She  heard  Ernest's 
footsteps  approaching  the  door,  and  then  the 
harsh  voice  of  Margaret  calling  him  back. 

"  Let  me  go  in  a  little  while,  Margaret," 
he  pleaded ;  "  I  want  to  see  her  so  much." 

"  You  wicked,  bad  boy,"  exclaimed  Mar- 
garet shai'ply,  "how  dare  you  go  near  that 
door  after  what  your  papa  has  told  you. 
Come  right  away,  this  instant,  or  I  will  tell 
him  the  minute  he  gets  home,  and  then  you'll 
see  what  you'll  get." 

Tears  sprang  to  Ruth's  eyes  as  she 
listened  to  the  sobs,  that  grew  fainter  and 
fainter  as  his  footsteps  receded,  but  a  sense 
of  right  as  well  as  propriety  forbade  her 
notice  or  interference. 

That  evening,  as  she  sat  alone  in  her  room, 
she  heard  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door.  Upon 
opening  it,  to  her  surprise  she  saw  Mr. 
Richmond  upon  the  threshold.  She  cour- 
teously invited  him  to  enter.  As  he  did  so, 
seating  himself  in  the  chair  she  placed  for 
him,  he  east  a  quick,  scrutinizing  glance 
around  the  room,  whose  plain  and  simple 
furniture  was  in  striking  contrast  to  the  one 
he  had  just  quitted,  and  then  his  eyes  rested 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  125 

searchingly  upon  the  countenance  of  the 
young  girl,  who  had  resumed  her  seat  by  a 
table  covered  with  books  and  papers. 

Ruth's  cheeks  flushed  slightly  beneath  his 
penetrating  gaze,  but  she  returned  it  with  a 
clear,  steady  look,  evidently  waiting  for  him 
to  make  known  his  errand. 

This  he  seemed  to  be  in  no  haste  to  do, 
but  commenced  conversing  upon  indifierent 
topics  with  his  customary  ease  and  self- 
possession,  though  Ruth  could  detect  be- 
neath this  assumed  composure  a  constraint 
and  embarrassment  rather  singular  in  one 
whom  no  amount  of  opposition  seemed  to 
be  able  to  discomfit  or  subdue. 

Though  outwardly  calm,  Ruth's  thoughts 
were  busy  in  conjecturing  the  cause  of  this 
unexpected  visit.  At,  last  she  ventured  to 
break  a  rather  awkward  pause  by  inquiring 
about  Ernest. 

Mr.  Richmond's  countenance  cleared,  and 
he  looked  relieved.  "I  think  that  Ernest 
appears  to  be  better  and  stronger  of  late," 
he  said.  "  It  was  on  his  account.  Miss  Sid- 
ney, that  I  ventured  to  intrude  upon  you  this 
evening.  You  have,  doubtless,  heard  of  the 
peculiar  views  I  entertain  upon  some  sub- 
jects; that  things  sacred  to  you  are  to  me 


126  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

not  merely  harmless  superstitions,  but  serious 
errors,  positively  injurious  in  their  influence 
upon  the  human  race.  In  short,  that  I  am 
what  the  world  calls  an  infidel.'''' 

Here  Mr.  Richmond  paused,  as  if  expect- 
ing a  reply.  But  Ruth  merely  inclined  her 
head,  and  he  resumed:  "It  was  my  inten- 
tion to  keep  Ernest,  as  far  as  possible,  in  igno- 
rance of  the  exciting  subject  of  religion,  to 
influence  him  neither  for  or  against  it ;  but 
when  he  arrived  at  a  suitable  age  to  place 
it  before  him  in  its  true  light,  leaving  him  to 
make  his  own  choice.  I  will  not  deny  but 
what  it  would  be  very  gratifying  to  me  if  he 
should,  at  that  time,  take  the  same  enlarged 
views  that  I  have  taken,  placing  himself 
upon  the  same  broad  platform,  for  I  have 
hoped  that  he  would  be  one  of  those  brave, 
true  men  destined  to  overthrow  the  strong- 
hold of  priestly  tyranny  and  superstition, 
and  deliver  the  millions  paralyzed  beneath 
their  influence;  but  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
force  his  inclinations,  for  I  believe  in  the 
liberty  of  conscience  to  its  fullest  extent. 
With  thege  views,  you  will  not  think  it 
strange  that  I  should  regret  the  ideas  he 
has  imbibed  under  your  teaching,  and  which 
appear  to  have  taken  a  strong  hold  upon 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  127 

his  mind,  and  should  be  desirous  of  remov- 
ing him  from  an  influence  calculated  to 
strengthen  them." 

"I  will  not  afiect  to  misunderstand  you, 
Mr.  Richmond,"  said  Ruth  gently ;  "  you 
refer  to  »iy  influence  over  him.  And  con- 
sidering the  views  you  entertain,  it  is  not 
strange  that  you  should  have  hard  feelings 
toward  me.  But  if  you  will  sufier  me  to 
explain,  I  think  I  can  show  you  that  I  have 
not  intentionally  interfered  in  the  plans  you 
have  formed  for  the  education  of  your  son. 
When  I  first  saw  Ernest  I  was  struck,  as 
most  strangers  are,  by  his  unusual  beauty 
and  intelligence;  but  it  was  pity  that  first 
drew  my  heart  toward  him.  You  will  be 
surprised,  and  perhaps  offended,  at  the  sup- 
position that  a  child  of  yours  should  stand 
in  need  of  that.  Yet  the  first  time  my  at- 
tention was  directed  to  him,  though  sur- 
rounded by  the  appearance  of  every  outward 
comfort  and  luxury,  no  child  of  poverty  had 
a  stronger  claim  to  it  than  he  :  left,  sick  and 
suffering,  to  the  care  of  his  Irish  nurse,  who 
had  abandoned  him  at  the  first  opportunity. 
And  I  will  add,  that  the  care  I  subsequently 
took  of  him  was  with  the  knowledge  and 
approval  of  your  wife." 


128  ERNEST  KICHMOND 

Mr,  Richmond's  face  flushed.  "  I  have  no 
doubt  but  what  Mrs.  Richmond  would  sanc- 
tion any  course  which  would  relieve  her 
from  any  care  and  responsibility  in  regard 
to  him,"  he  said  bitterly. 

Ruth  was  too  well  acquainted  Avith  the 
want  of  harmony  subsisting  between  this 
ill-matched  couple  to  feel  surprised  at  this 
outbreak.  She  passed  it  over  as  though  she 
had  not  heard  it.  "  It  was  by  the  merest 
accident,"  she  resumed,  "  that  I  learned  that 
Ernest  was  more  ignorant  of  a  subject  of 
vital  importance  than  even  the  children  of 
non-professing  Christians.  He  was  of  such 
a  tender  age,  that  at  first  I  did  not  think  of 
instructing  him  in  more  than  the  first  princi- 
ples of  Christianity,  simplified  to  his  childish 
comprehension.  But  his  curiosity,  once 
aroused,  was  not  so  easily  satisfied.  There 
seemed  to  be  an  under  current  of  religious 
feeling  in  your  son,  a  natural  elevation  of 
soul,  which  made  the  attainment  of  spiritual 
knowledge  easy.  Indeed,  it  seemed  more 
like  the  recollection  of  something  once 
known,  but  forgotten,  than  the  revelation 
of  anything  new.  What  in  many  seem  to  be 
the  result  of  long  experience,  with  him  is 
learned,  as  it  were,  by  intuition.    The  fervor 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  129 

of  his  zeal,  and  his  unquestioning  confidence 
iu  his  divine  Master,  has  often  rebuked  my 
coldness  and  want  of  faith.  You  may  cast 
all  the  blame  on  me  if  you  will ;  but  it  is 
not  my  work,  but  the  work  of  One  mightier 
than  I,  from  whom  I  dare  not  take  the 
glory." 

Mr.  Richmond  looked  with  surprise  upon 
the  youthful  speaker,  whose  usual  manner 
was  almost  cold  in  its  quietude.  The  cheeks 
were  flushed,  the  eyes  radiant;  while  the 
whole  countenance  showed  an  earnestness 
and  depth  of  feeling  of  which  he  had  not  be- 
lieved her  capable. 

"  You  mistake  me.  Miss  Sidney,"  he  said ; 
"I  have  not  come  to  reproach  you.  I  am 
confident  that  all  you  have  said  and  done 
has  been  from  the  best  of  motives.  I  blame 
myself  far  more  than  you.  I  have  been  in- 
excusably careless.  I  love  Ernest  as  few  fa- 
thers love  their  children;  with  a  love  that 
borders  on  idolatry.  He  is  the  sole  joy  and 
hope  of  my  heart,  and  he  fully  justifies  both 
my  pride  and  my  affection,  for  never  was  fa- 
ther blessed  with  a  child  of  greater  promise. 
Yet,  dearly  as  I  love  him,  I  would  sooner  lay 
him  in  his  little  cofl5n  than  know  that  he 
would  live  to  become  a  disciple  of  the  ao- 


130  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

cursed  creed  that  has  wrought  me  so  much 
evil !» 

As  Mr.  Richmond  said  this  his  voice, 
which  before  had  been  low  and  gentle,  grew 
deeper  and  fuller,  his  brow  contracted,  and 
his  dark  eyes  glowed  with  the  fierce  vindic- 
tiveness  which  the  sudden  recollection  of 
his  early  wrongs  and  sufferings  had  called 
forth. 

"  You  look  shocked,  Miss  Sidney,"  he 
added,  in  a  more  quiet  tone,  as  he  noticed 
the  pained  expression  in  the  clear,  truthful 
eyes  that  were  fixed  upon  his  countenance. 
"  But  if  you  knew  my  past  history  you 
would  not  be  surprised  at  my  feelings.  I 
once  had  a  father,  whom  I  loved  as  much  as 
his  stern  nature  would  permit  me ;  but  for 
the  sake  and  in  the  name  of  his  religion  he 
banished  me  from  his  heart  and  home,  dis- 
owned and  disinherited  me.  I  had  a  moth- 
er, but  her  life  was  darkened  and  shortened 
by  the  same  gloomy  creed  that  made  my 
childhood,  that  season  of  joy  and  sunshine, 
so  dark  and  dreary.  I  had  a  sister — "  here, 
for  a  moment,  his  deep  voice  faltered,  and 
there  flitted  across  his  face  that  expression 
of  unutterable  tenderness  which  visited  it  so 
seldom,  but  when  it  did  had  such  a  trans< 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  181 

forming  influence  upon  it.  "  If  there  are 
such  things  as  angels  she  was  one.  But  she 
died  early,  my  poor  murdered  sister !  It 
was  over  her  grave  that  I  made  the  vow 
that  thus  far  has  been  kept  faithfully." 

"  They  tell  me,"  he  resumed  after  a  pause, 
during  which  he  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in 
gloomy  thought,  "  that  I  have  a  brother. 
I  do  not  know  of  any  such.  I  never  knew 
him.  Yet  certain  it  is,  that  there  is  living  a 
man  who  is  my  father's  son,  and  who  has 
the  most  undisputed  right  to  that  title.  But 
he  has  forgotten  it,  and  so  will  I.  It  is  not 
fit  that  I  should  take  his  name  upon  my  lips, 
for  is  he  not  a  bright  and  shining  light,  a 
pillar  of  the  Church,  while  I  am  but  a  pub- 
lican and  a  sinner  ?  Yet,  reprobate  as  I  am, 
I  would  not  exchange  my  heart  and  charac- 
ter for  his !" 

There  was  something  in  the  expression  of 
Ruth's  countenance  that  arrested  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's attention,  and  checking  himself,  he 
said,  "  You  are  offended.  Miss  Sidney.  I 
am  forgetting  that  what  has  been  to  me  the 
source  of  so  much  suffering,  is  to  you  a 
holy  thing." 

"I  am  not  offended,  Mr.  Richmond;  I 
pity  you." 


132  ERNEST   RICHMOND 

Pity !  For  a  moment  his  proud  heart  re- 
volted, but  the  words  were  spoken  so  simply 
and  unaffectedly,  and  there  was  in  the  look 
that  accompanied  them  such  an  entire  ab- 
sence of  scorn  or  contempt,  that  the  resent- 
ful words  died  upon  his  lips,  and  he  re- 
mained silent. 

In  the  mean  time  Ruth  was  making  a 
strong  effort  to  overcome  the  timidity  of  her 
reserved  nature  sufficiently  to  enable  her  to 
give  utterance  to  the  thoughts  that  were 
struggling  for  a  voice  in  her  heart.  At  last 
she  spoke,  at  first  slowly  and  hesitatingly; 
but  as  she  proceeded  she  forgot  herself  in  her 
subject,  and  the  words  fell  from  her  lips 
clearly  and  distinctly,  and  with  scarce  an 
effort.  "  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  tell  you, 
Mr.  Richmond,"  she  said,  "how  much  it 
pains  me  to  see  a  mind  and  heart  so  richly' 
endowed  by  that  Being  whose  existence 
you  deny,  so  darkened  and  misdirected. 
You  have  been  unfortunate,  most  unfortu- 
nate in  your  early  education,  and  the  circum- 
stances which  surrounded  you.  The  wrongs 
and  sufferings  you  have  endured  have  im- 
bittered  your  heart  and  perverted  your 
judgment.  Narrow,  sectarian  bigotry  is  not 
religion.     It  may  be  the  only  religion  you 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  133 

have  known,  but  I  have  not  so  learned 
Christ ;  neither  have  any  thus  learned  him 
who  have  learned  him  aright.  The  Founder 
of  our  religion  knew  that  such  things  would 
be.  He  foretold  that  many  would  arise, 
speaking  his  precepts,  and  bearing  his  name, 
who  had  no  part  with  him.  But  he  said 
also,  "  by  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them." 
"  You  are  right,  Miss  Sidney,  and  by  this 
rule  have  I  judged  your  religion  and  con- 
demned it.  I  once  had  a  friend,  one  of  the 
most  upright  and  kindest  of  human  beings, 
who  was  a  father  to  me  when  my  own  father 
forsook  me.  A  philanthropist  in  every 
sense  of  the  word,  he  possessed  the  most 
liberal  and  enlarged  views  of  any  man  I 
ever  knew.  He  had  a  kind  word  and  a 
helping  hand  for  every  one  who  needed 
them.  And  yet  this  man  was  an  infidel,  an 
object  of  scorn  and  abhorrence  to  the  Chris- 
tian world.  I  have  known  others  who  set 
themselves  up  for  guides  and  teachers  to 
what  they  are  pleased  to  term  a  'lost  and 
ruined  world,'  whose  very  looks,  as  they 
rest  upon  those  who  presume  to  differ  from 
their  belief,  seem  to  say,  '  Stand  back,  for  I 
am  holier  than  thou,'  and  who  use  their 
religion  as  a  doafc  to  the  most  grasping 
9 


184  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

avariciousness,  the  most  intense  selfishness. 
You  have  said  truly,  '  by  their  fruits  ye 
shall  know  them.' " 

Ruth  felt  that  there  was  too  much  truth 
in  this,  and  a  cloud  shadowed  her  smooth, 
open  brow,  and  her  eyes  drooped  beneath 
the  triumphant  expression  of  those  fixed 
upon  her,  but  it  was  but  for  a  moment.  She 
raised  her  eyes,  saying  gently,  but  steadily : 

"  True,  too  true.  It  is  a  source  of  grief  to 
every  sincere  believer  that  there  are  so  many 
who  bear  the  name  of  Christ  who  walk  not 
in  his  footsteps.  Those  are  they  who  '  cru- 
cify their  Lord  afresh,  and  put  him  to  open 
shame.'  But  it  does  not  make  his  precepts 
less  pure,  bis  example  less  perfect.  You  are 
by  profession  a  lawyer.  Would  you  not  con- 
sider that  person  most  illiberal  and  unjust  who 
should  stigmatize  all  those  engaged  in  it  as 
dishonest  and  dishonorable,  because  the  few 
with  whom  he  happened  to  come  in  contact 
were  of  that ,  character  ?  As  there  are  bad 
among  all  nations,  all  classes,  and  in  every 
walk  of  life,  so  will  you  find  in  the  Church 
of  Christ  blind  guides  and  false  teachers. 
There  is  only  one  perfect  pattern,  but  one  tin- 
erring  guide.  Christ  indeed  said  to  his  disci- 
ples, *  Let  your  light  shine :'  but  he  pointed 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  185 

them  to  no  guide  among  those  with  like  pas- 
sions to  themselves,  but  said  to  them,  'Follow 
me.'  There  is  in  the  minds  of  many  a  great 
mistake  in  regard  to  the  effect  of  the  Gospel 
upon  the  hearts  of  those  who  embrace  it, 
and  its  promises  to  them.  Christ  never 
promised  his  followers  an  exemption  from 
the  afflictions  of  this  world,  though  he  did 
promise  that  he  would  sustain  them  through 
it  all.  He  does  not  tell  them  that  he  will 
raise  them  above  the  power  of  temptation, 
though  he  does  say  that  he  will  give  them 
strength  to  resist  it.  If  we  were  not  so 
prone  to  err,  so  liable  to  yield  to  temptation, 
there  would  be  no  need  of  his  forgiving  love, 
his  sustaining  grace.  Not  in  this  world 
will  the  purest  of  his  children  be  free  from 
the  liability  of  yielding  to  their  former  easily 
besetting  sins ;  though  they  have  the  assur- 
ance that  if  they  sin,  there  is  One  who  is 
able  and  willing  to  give  pardon  to  the  past 
and  hope  to  the  future. 

"  There  are  some  persons  so  unfortunately 
constituted,  their  early  education  and  asso- 
ciations were  so  unfavorable  to  the  full  de- 
velopment of  their  moral  natures,  they  have 
so  much  to  contend  with  in  regard  to  evil 
passions  and  inclinations,  that  it  is  diiiicalt 


136  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

for  them  to  bring  to  perfection  any  of  the 
Christian  graces.  If  sincere,  they  will  work 
out  their  own  salvation ;  the  restraining  and 
softening  influences  of  Christianity  will  make 
their  lives  much  better  than  they  would 
otherwise  be ;  yet  their  imperfect  interpreta- 
tions of  its  requirements,  their  narrow  and 
contracted  views  of  the  obligations  incum- 
bent upon  them,  often  make  them  stumbling- 
blocks  to  the  weak,  a  reproach  to  the  cause 
of  Christ,  and  a  sharp  sword  in  the  hands 
of  his  enemies.  ^ 

"  There  are  others  to  whom  the  attainment 
of  external  virtue  is  so  easy,  the  language  of 
love  and  charity  so  natural,  that  though 
they  reject  Christ  as  their  Saviour  they  un- 
consciously practice  many  of  his  outward 
virtues,  and  follow  some  of  his  precepts. 
Like  those  spoken  of  in  the  Scriptures, 
'  without  the  law  they  are  a;  law  to  them- 
selves.' The  truths  of  revealed  religion  are 
to  such  what  they  were  to  the  young  man 
who  had  kept  the  Commandments  from  his 
youth  up,  'the  one  thing  needful,'  without 
which  every  other  gift  is  vanity." 

There  was  a  time  when  Mr.  Richmond 
would  have  smiled  at  the  idea  of  listening 
so   attentively   to    the   simple-hearted   girl 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  187 

before  him,  who  did  not  possess  a  tithe  of 
the  learning  and  eloquence  of  those  whose 
arguments  and  persuasions  he  had  so  many 
times  defied.  But  there  was  such  an  entire 
forgetfulness  of  self,  so  much  earnestness  of 
thought  and  depth  of  feeling  in  all  that  she 
said,  that 'an  involuntary  feeling  of  reverence 
filled  his  heai-t  as  he  listened,  not  unmingled 
with  curiosity,  at  this  sudden  transformation 
in  the  quiet,  reserved  girl,  whom  he  had 
hitherto  foimd  so  difiicult  to  win  to  anything 
like  an  exi^ression  of  an  opinion  of  her  own, 
that  he  sometimes  doubted  whether  she  had 
any. 

The  few  words  that  Mr.  Richmond  had 
let  fall  in  relation  to  his  early  trials  had 
aroused  the  womanly  sympathies  of  Ruth's 
heart.  She  had  heard  rumoi's  of  them 
before,  but  was  not  certain  in  regard  to 
their  truth.  She  felt  that  it  could  not  be  a 
light  thing  that  had  thus  warped  and  imbit- 
tered  a  heart  naturally  so  full  of  generous 
and  noble  impulses.  She  saw  beneath  the 
hard  crust  of  infidelity  glimpses  of  so  much 
tenderness,  the  germs  of  so  many  pure  and 
lofty  attributes,  which,  under  the  genial 
influences  of  Christianity,  would  make  him  an 
instrument  for  the  accomplishment  of  so 


138  ERNEST  EICHMOND 

much  good,  that  there  arose  in  her  heart  a 
yearning  desire  to  open  his  eyes  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  truth  that  was  irrepressi- 
ble. And  it  was  with  eyes  humid  and  a 
voice  tremulous  with  feeling  that  she  said : 

"  Mr.  Richmond,  I  am  but  a  simple,  untaught 
girl.  I  may  not  hope  to  touch  your  heart 
or  convince  your  understanding.  There  is 
only  One  who  can  do  that.  Like  you,  God 
called  me  early  to  drink  the  cup  of  sorrow, 
causing  me  to  bear  the  yoke  in  my  youth. 
But  unlike  you,  these  afflictions  softened 
rather  than  imbittered  my  heart ;  the  very 
isolation  to  which  he  has  for  the  most  part  of 
my  life  consigned  me  drawing  me  still  nearer 
to  him,  and  causing  me  to  lean  upon  his  arm 
with  a  stronger  and  more  confiding  trust. 
O  that  he  would  open  your  darkened  eyes, 
showing  you  the  danger  of  the  course  you 
are  pursuing,  and  saving  you  from  the  sor- 
row that  it  will  too  surely  bring  upon  your- 
self and  those  dear  to  you.  For  O  it  is  a 
fearful  thing  to  see  one  made  so  manifestly 
in  the  image  of  God  thus  openly  defying 
him." 

Mr.  Richmond  smiled.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  interest  that  the  young  girl 
evinced  for  him  that  was  very  flattering  to 


AXD   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  139 

his  pride.  Perhaps  he  might  have  miscon- 
strued it,  and  imagined  that  in  the  compas- 
sion she  expressed  for  him  there  was  mingled 
a  warmer  feeling;  for  he  was  not  blind  to 
the  effect  that  his  fine  person,  and  the  singu- 
lar charm  of  his  manner,  had  upon  the  heart 
of  woman. 

Ruth  instinctively  divined  this  feeling  on 
his  part,  for  her  womanly  pride  took  the 
alarm,  and  she  added  quickly:  "I  assure 
you,  Mr.  Richmond,  that  I  could  not  fail  to 
have  the  same  feeling  toward  any  one  enter- 
taining the  same  views  with  yourself,  and 
capable  of  exerting  the  same  influence  for 
good  or  for  evil." 

Mr.  Richmond  smiled  again,  but  it  was 
with  a  different  expression.  His  quick  pen- 
etration had  discovered  what  was  passing  in 
her  mind,  and  there  was  some  pique  in  the 
tone  in  which  he  said,  "I  did  not  flatter  my- 
self that  Miss  Sidney  felt  any  more  interest 
in  me  than  in  any  other  heathen  in  her 
midst." 

Ruth  colored,  and  for  a  moment  she 
seemed  to  be  at  a  loss  what  to  say.  But  her 
natural  ingenuousness  came  to  her  aid,  and 
she  replied,  "You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Rich- 
mond ;  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  not  to 


140  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

feel  a  more  than  usual  interest  in  the  father 
of  Ernest." 

Mr.  Richmond  stood  rebuked  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  truthful  and  loving  spirit  that 
dictated  these  simple  words,  they  were  in 
such  contrast  to  the  crooked  policy  and 
worldly  wisdom  by  which  he  had  tried  to 
vail  the -unworthy  thoughts  which  he  now 
blushed  to  think  that  he  had  entertained. 
This  allusion  to  his  boy  also  touched  his 
feelings,  and  he  said  warmly :  "  Believe  me, 
Miss  Sidney,  I  fully  appreciate  your  feelings. 
Upon  one  subject  we  differ,  and  shall  prob- 
ably always  continue  to  differ.  But  it  cannot 
prevent  me  from  feeling  otherwise  than  grate- 
ful for  the  interest  you  have  taken  in  Ernest, 
and  through  him,  in  me.  It  gives  me  pain 
to  break  up  an  intercourse  so  pleasant  to  you 
both ;  but  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  it 
must  be.  Ernest  is  of  a  very  affectionate 
and  impressible  nature,  and  has  become 
strongly  attached  to  you;  but  such  feelings 
in  children  are  evanescent.  I  have  thought 
of  taking  him  down  to  the  sea-shore,  both 
for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  and  to  dissipate 
by  a  change  of  scene  these  morbid  fancies ; 
but  my  business  is  such  that  I  cannot  very 
weil  leave  just  at  this  time.     I  feel  quite 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  141 

sure  that  you  will  be  willing  to  promise  me 
that  you  will  not  attempt  to  renew  your 
former  intercourse  with  Ernest,  so  that  it 
will  not  be  necessary." 

The  sudden  lightening  of  Ruth's  eyes 
showed  something  of  wounded  pride.  But 
it  passed  away,  and  she  said  quietly :  "  I  in- 
fer from  what  you  say  that  you  have  for- 
bidden him  to  speak  to  me  ?" 

Mr.  Richmond  inclined  his  head. 

"Then  you  may  be  very  sure  that  I  shall 
not  tempt  him  to  disobey  you;  that  would 
be  directly  contrary  to  the  teachings  of  the 
religion  whose  influence  over  him  you  so 
much  fear.  Your  right  to  decide  in  regard 
to  your  son's  education  and  associates  is 
unquestionable ;  I  certainly  have  no  right  to 
interfere.  Yet  beware,  lest  in  asserting  your 
authority  you  interfere  with  his  who  is  the 
Father  of  his  spirit,  and  who  has  a  so  much 
stronger  claim  upon  him ;  incurring  the  curse 
pronounced  upon  those  who  offend  one  of 
Christ's  little  ones ;  preventing  their  approach 
to  Him  who  has  said,  'Let  little  children 
come  unto  me,  and  forbid  them  not.'  Be- 
ware, I  say,  lest  God  rise  up  in  his  wrath, 
declaring  you  to  be  unworthy  of  the  price- 
less gem  committed  to  your  keeping,  and 


142  ERNEST  RICHMOND  v 

make  you  again  childless !  Or  worse  than 
that,  curse  you  with  the  accomplishment  of 
your  own  wishes ;  causing  you  to  lament  in 
dust  and  ashes  the  blighted  life  and  perverted 
heart  of  the  child  so  dear  to  you,  when  it  is 
too  late  to  repair  your  error." 

Mr.  Richmond  listened  to  this  with  a  half 
smile  upon  his  lip,  as  to  the  ravings  of  fanat- 
icism. Yet  there  was  a  time  when,  feeling 
that  his  "punishment  was  greater  than  he 
could  bear,"  these  words  came  back  to  him, 
sounding  in  his  ears  like  a  prophecy  ful- 
filled. 

"  She  is  a  strange  girl,"  he  said  to  himself 
as  he  wended  his  way  homeward.  "  I  hardly 
know  what  to  make  of  her.  She  combines  a 
strange  mixture  of  intelligence  and  simplic- 
ity, of  reserve  and  frankness.  There  is  some- 
thing about  her  that  reminds  me  of  poor 
Grace,  though  she  has  not  a  tithe  of  her  rare 
beauty." 

"  She  evidently  has  not  a  very  flattering 
opinion  of  me,"  he  added  as,  entering  his 
dressing-room,  he  paused  before  a  full-length 
mirror,  taking  a  view  of  himself  from  head 
to  foot,  while  a  half-vexed  and  half-amused 
expression  passed  over  his  countenance. 
"She  is  different  from  most  women  I  have 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  143 

known,  to  whom  a  spice  of  wickedness  in 
our  sex  seems  to  be  rather  attractive  than 
otherwise." 

In  his  dreams  that  night  Albert  Richmond 
wandered  back  to  the  home  of  his  boyhood. 
He  met  again  the  loving  glance  of  the  gentle 
mother  who  had  left  him  too  early  to  make 
a  lasting  impression  upon  his  heart.  He  saw 
again  the-sister  he  had  so  loved  and  mourned. 
But  their  eyes  were  so  beseechingly  sorrow- 
ful that  they  filled  his  heart  with  a  vaguQ 
feeling  of  pain ;  and  there  was  strangely 
mingled  with  their  faces  that  of  the  pale, 
dark-eyed  girl  whose  words  had  so  thrilled 
his  heart. 

But  the  morning  sun  dissipated  the  im- 
pression they  produced  upon  his  mind,  and 
he  passed  out  to  his  daily  business  with  the 
calm  brow  and  indifferent  manner  that  was 
habitual  to  him,  as  though  no  deeper  feelings, 
no  holier  aspirations  had  been  aroused  in  hiA 
bosom. 


144  EENEST  EICHMOND 


CHAPTER  XV. 

.    ERNEST  DISOBEYS  HIS  FATHER. 

Some  days  passed.  Ruth  went  to  and 
from  her  little  school  with  her  accustomed 
regularity.  She  sometimes  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Ernest,  but  only  at  a  distance.  She  care- 
fully avoided  meeting  him,  knowing  that  his 
affectionate  heart  would  prompt  him  to  speak 
to  her,  and  how  hard  it  would  be  for  her  to 
turn  away  from  him,  as  she  knew  she  must. 

One  day  she  closed  school  a  little  earlier 
than  usual.  As  she  was  returning  to  her 
rooms  she  saw  Ernest's  curly  head  at  one  of 
the  nursery  windows,  but  it  quickly  disap- 
peared. 

•  She  had  hardly  laid  aside  her  bonnet  when 
she  heard  little  footsteps  approaching,  and 
then  the  latch  was  lifted  slowly,  and  Ernest 
looked  cautiously  in.  Seeing  no  one  but 
Ruth  present  he  darted  forward.  "  O 
Ruthy,  dear  little  mother,"  he  exclaimed, 
kissing  not  only  her  face,  but  her  hands 
and  dress,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  joy,  "  I 
am  so  very  glad  to  see  you  again!     I  can 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  145 

stay  with  you  a  whole  hour,  for  Margaret 
has  gone  out,  and  wont  be  back  till  night." 

For  a  moment  Ruth  gave  herself  up  to 
the  joy  that  his  presence  always  gave  her. 
All  the  latent  tenderness  of  her  lonely  heart 
welled  up  as  she  felt  the  clinging  of  his  arms 
around  hei*  neck,  and  the  soft  pressure  of 
his  cheek  against  her  own,  flooding  her 
countenance  with  a  happy  light  that  seldom 
visited  it. 

But  the  smile  died  from  her  lips  as  she 
thought  of  the  heavy  cross  she  must. take 
up,  for  to  her  conscientious  mind  it  seemed 
to  be  clearly  her  duty  to  send  him  from  her, 
and  to  abstain  from  encouraging  him,  by 
word  or  action,  from  attempting  to  see  her 
again.  How  her  heart  shrank  from  this  un- 
gracious task.  How  coijjd  she  unclasp  those 
arms,  and  turn  away  from  the  eyes  fixed 
upon  her  with  such  an  expression  of  love 
and  joy.  And  more  than  all,  how  was  she 
to  explain  to  that  little  sensitive  heart  that 
it  was  from  no  want  of  love  for  him  that 
she  thus  acted  ? 

These  thoughts,  which  passed  rapidly 
through  her  mind,  gave  an  expression  of 
sadness  to  her  countenance,  which  could  not 
fail  to  bo  noticed  by  the  quick-sighted  child. 


146  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

who  looked  grieved  and  troubled.  "  What 
makes  you  look  so  sorry  ?"  he  said.  "  Don't 
you  love  me,  Ruthy?"' 

In  spite  of  all  her  efforts,  the  tears  sprang 
to  Ruth's  eyes  at  these  words.  "  Love  you  ? 
O  child,  never  in  this  world  will  you  know 
how  well !"  was  her  involuntary  exclamation 
as  she  strained  him  to  her  heart. 

"  I  thought  you  looked  sorry  to  see  me, 
Ruthy." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  see  you,  Ernest,  but  not 
because  I  do  not  love  you.  I  love  my  dear 
boy  very  much,  but  I  would  rather  never 
Bee  him  again  than  have  him  do  wrong." 

As  Ruth  said  this  she  had  regained,  in  a 
measure,  her  usual  self-control,  and  spoke 
seriously  and  impressively. 

"Have  I  done  w.rong,  little  mother?" 
said  Ernest  in  a  low  voice. 

"Did  your  father  know  of  your  coming 
here?"' 

"What,  papa?"  he  said  with  a  startled 
look.  "  I  should  not  want  papa  to  know  of 
it ;  he  would  be  very  angry." 

"And  so  you  have  not  only  disobeyed 
your  father,  but  are  intending  to  deceive 
him,  Ernest?"  said  Ruth  with  a  grave  look. 

This  was  presenting  the  subject  in  quite  a 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  147 

new  light  to  Ernest,  and  his  little  face  looked 
very  sober. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  do  wrong,  Ruthy." 

"I  know  that,  my  child.  But  you  have 
done  wrong ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

For  a  few  moments  Ernest  remained 
silent,  evidently  turning  over  in  his  mind  a 
problem  that  he  was  xmable  to  solve.  "  Papa 
is  not  a  Christian,"  he  said  at  last,  raising 
his  eyes  timidly  to  her  face. 

"But  he  is  none  the  less  your  father, 
Ernest,  and  as  such,  he  has  a  right  to  your 
obedienqe." 

"But  I  can't  obey  papa  and  do  what  is 
right,"  he  persisted.  "He  don't  want  me 
to  be  a  Christian.  He  don't  like  to  have  me 
pray,  or  read  ray  Bible,  or  do  any  of  the 
things  that  God  has  commanded  us  to  do." 

Ruth  looked  troubled.  To  reconcile  these 
conflicting  duties,  so  as  to  render  them 
plain  to  his  childish*comprehension,  to  warn 
him  against  his  father's  evil  example  and 
opinions,  and  yet  not  undermine  the  affectiou 
and  duty  he  owed  him,  was  a  diflBcult  and 
trying  task.  But  after  a  moment's  pause, 
during  which  her  heart  was  lifted  to  God 
for  wisdom  and  guidance,  she  said : 

"  This  is  a  hard  thing  for  a  boy  like  you  to 


148  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

understand  Ernest,  but  if  you  will  listen  to  me 
I  will  try^to  make  it  clear  to  you.  You  know 
that  you  have  two  fathers,  Ernest,  one  in 
heaven  and  one  upon  earth.  Now  which  of 
them  would  be  most  likely  to  judge  most 
wisely  what  is  for  your  best  good,  and 
which  has  the  strongest  claim  upon  your 
obedience?" 

As  Ruth  said  this,  Ernest's  eyes  were  fixed 
intently  upon  her  countenance.  And  as  the 
full  meaning  of  these  words  flashed  upon  his 
mind  the  perplexed  look  upon  his  face  gave 
place  to  an  expression  of  relief,  and  .he  said 
slowly  and  distinctly,  "My  Father  in  heaven, 
Ruthy." 

"You  are  right,  Ernest,  for  he  is  the 
Father  of  your  Spirit,  which  will  never  die. 
He  not  only  gave  you  every  earthly  comfort 
that  you  possess,  but  for  your  sake  gave  up 
to  a  cruel  death  his  well-beloved  Son.  O  my 
child,  earth  has  no  love  like  that  I  and  well  is 
it  worthy  of  the  first  affections  of  your  heart. 
Your  heavenly  Father  has  said  that  you  must 
love  him,  pray  to  him,  read  his  holy  word,  and 
keep  all  his  holy  commandments,  and  you 
must  not  disobey  him  even  to  please  your  best 
earthly  friend.  But  you  must  not  disobey 
your  father  merely  to  please  yotirself.    You 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  149 

must  obey  him  in  everything  that  is  not 
contrary  to  the  word  of  God.  Do  you 
understand  me,  Ernest  ?" 

"  Yes,  little  mother,  I  always  understand 
everything  that  you  tell  me.  But  somehow, 
I  can't  do  right  all  by  myself.  I  have  no 
chance  to  pray  alone,  and  when  Margaret 
sees  me  she  always  laughs  and  makes  fun. 
I  know  that  papa  don't  like  to  have  me  read 
the  Bible,  or  talk  about  it,  or  about  God; 
and  when  I  forget  and  speak  before  I  think, 
as  I  sometimes  do,  he  looks  so  grave  and 
sober  that  it  frightens  me." 

"I  know  that  these  things  are  hard, 
Ernest.  But  this  is  the  cross  that  God  has 
given  you.  Can  you  not  bear  it  f(5r  his  sake, 
who  bore  such  a  heavy  one  for  you  up  the 
hill  of  Calvary?" 

Ernest  raised  his  head  from  Ruljji's  knee, 
his  cheeks  flushed,  and  his  eyes  grew  bright. 
"  Little  mother,"  he  exclaimed,  "  when  you 
talk  so  I  feel  as  if  I  could  do  anything  for 
his  sake!  That  I  could  even  be  burned  at 
the  stake  like  those  martyrs  you  told  me 
about.  But  when  the  time  comes,"  he 
added,  dropping  his  head  again  wearily 
upon  her  knee,  "I  find  that  I  cannot  bear 
the  littlest  thing." 

10 


150  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"  That  is  the  case  with  older  and  more  ex- 
perienced Christians  than  you,  Ernest.  But 
He  that  knoweth  our  frame  pities  us,  re- 
membering that  we  are  but  dust." 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  you  must  not 
forget,  Ernest,"  continued  Ruth.  "  Your  fa- 
ther loves  you  dearly,  he  is  very  kind  to 
you,  and  though  sadly  mistaken,  has  your 
good  in  view  in  all  that  he  does.  Supposing 
you  thought  as  he  does,  that  there  is  no  God, 
no  Saviour,  no  heaven,  that  this  is  all  the  life 
we  are  to  live,  would  it  not  make  you  very 
imhappy  ?" 

Ernest  drew  a  deep  sigh,  "  It  would  be 
dreadful,  Ruthy,"  he  said.  "  I  know  that 
papa  don't  believe  in  God  or  in  the  Bible, 
for  he  told  me  so,  and  it  made  me  so  sorry, 
you  can't  think.  I  tried  to  make  him  think 
different  one  day,  but  he  only  laughed,  and 
asked  me  so  many  queer  questions  that  I 
didn't  know  what  to  say.  Papa  is  a  man, 
and  I  am  nothing  but  a  little  boy  ;  he  wont 
listen  to  what  I  say  to  him." 

"  My  child,  there  is  a  difference  between 
the  wisdom  of  this  world,  and  that  which 
makes  us  wise  toward  God.  In  regard  to 
many  things,  your  father  is  far  wiser  than 
you  or  I ;  yet  his  spiritual  eyes  are  darkened ; 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  151 

and  it  is  only  God  that  can  open  them  to  the 
knowledge  of  himself  and  his  truth.  But 
God  sometimes  chooses  small  and  feeble 
hands,  Ernest,  to  do  his  most  mighty  works. 
And  O  would  it  not  be  a  happy  thing,  my 
dear  boy,"  said  Ruth,  taking  one  of  his 
hands  in  hers  and  pressing  it  to  her  lips,  "if 
this  little  one  of  yours  could  lead  that  dear 
father  to  the  cross  of  Christ  ?" 

Ernest's  eyes  kindled,  and  his  slender  form 
*.  dilated  with  thoughts  and  feelings  too  big 
for  -utterance.  "  Little  mother,"  he  said  fer- 
vently, "  it  seems  to  me  now,  that  to  do  this 
I  would  gladly  die !  I  love  papa  so  dearly, 
and  it  makes  my  heart  ache  so  to  think  that 
he  is  not  a  Christian.  But  how  can  I  do  it, 
Ruthy  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  how,  my  child.  Not  by 
talking,  for  you  are  not  wise  enough  to  know 
always  the  right  thing  to  say ;  and  even  if  you 
were,  it  would  not  be  becoming  in  one  of 
your  years  to  try  to  teach  any  one  so  much 
older  than  yourself.  There  is  only  one  way, 
and  that  is  hy  living  the  Christianas  life. 
By  never  denying  your  Master  in  anything 
that  you  say  or  do,  and  yet  trying  to  please 
your  father  in  everything  that  is  not  contrary 
to  his  teachings.     Will  you  do  this,  Ernest  ?" 


152  ERNEST  RICHMOND  ^ 

"I  willtry,  Ruthy." 

"  If  you  really  try,  Ernest,  and  ask  God  to 
help  you,  you  will  succeed.  And  now  I 
have  only  one  thing  more  to  say  to  you. 
You  know  that  I  have  often  told  you  how 
dear  you  were  to  me,  how  tenderly  I  loved 
you,  and  I  have  proved  my  love  for  you  in 
many  ways.  Now  supposing  that  I  should 
meet  you,  and  should  not  speak,  or  even  look 
at  you,  but  should  pass  along  as  though  I 
had  not  seen  you,  would  you,  still  think  that 
I  loved  you,  Ernest  ?" 

For  a  moment  Ernest  looked  puzzled,  and 
then  his  countenance  lightened,  and  he  said 
quickly,  "I  should  understand,  and  know 
that  you  loved  me,  Ruthy,  just  as  I  love  you, 
now,  and  for  always." 

Ruth  could  not  resist  the  impulse  which 
made  her  draw  him  to  her  bosom.  "  If  you 
love  me  keep  my  commandments,"  she  said, 
as  she  pressed  her  lips  upon  his  forehead. 

For  a  moment  she  held  him  thus,  with  a 
yearning  tenderness  in  her  heart  that  was 
irrepressible.  And  then  she  put  him  from 
her,  and  rising  from'her  seat  said,  "  Now  yoa 
must  go,  Ernest." 

Ernest  moved  a  few  steps  toward  the 
door,  and  then  tmning,  fixed  his  eyes  full 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  153 

vipon  her.  "  Shall  I  never  see  you  again, 
little  mother?"  he  said. 

There  was  a  momentary  struggle  in  Ruth's 
heart  to  retain  her  composure,  and  then  she 
said  cheerfully,  "We  are  both  traveling  to- 
ward our  Father's  home,  Ernest,  drawing 
nearer  every  day.  When  I  reach  that  happy 
place  I  shall  expect  to  see  Ernest  there,  or 
that  he  will  be  coming  after.  Which  of  us 
gets  there  first  will  wait  for  the  other. 
Shall  it  not  be  so,  my  dear  boy  ?" 

"  I  know  that  we  shall  meet  there,"  he 
replied  in  a  tone  of  calm  certainty.  "  But 
shall  I  never  see  you  again  in  this  world, 
Ruthy  ?" 

"That  must  be  -as  God  wills,  Ernest. 
When  you  grow  to  be  a  man,  a  good 
Christian  man,  as  I  am'  sure  you  will  be, 
I  trust  that  I  shall  either  see  or  hear  from 
you." 

Ernest  looked  down  thoughtfully  upon  the 
hands,  so  thin  and  slender,  and  said,  "  I 
don't  know,  little  mother,  but  I  sometimes 
think  that  I  shall  not  live  to  be  a  man." 

There  was  something  so  singular  in  this 
remark  that  Ruth  looked  searchingly  into 
the  face  of  the  speaker,  to  see  if  there  were 
any  grounds  for  this  fear. 


148  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

understand  Ernest,  but  if  you  will  listen  to  me 
I  will  try^to  make  it  clear  to  you.  You  know 
that  you  have  two  fathers,  Ernest,  one  in 
heaven  and  one  upon  earth.  Now  which  of 
them  would  be  most  likely  to  judge  most 
wisely  what  is  for  your  best  good,  and 
which  has  the  strongest  claim  upon  your 
obedience?" 

As  Ruth  said  this,  Ernest's  eyes  were  fixed 
intently  upon  her  countenance.  And  as  the 
full  meaning  of  these  words  flashed  upon  his 
mind  the  perplexed  look  upon  his  face  gave 
place  to  an  expression  of  relief,  and  .he  said 
slowly  and  distinctly,  "My  Father  in  heaven, 
Ruthy." 

"You  are  right,  Ernest,  for  he  is  the 
Father  of  your  Spirit,  which  will  never  die. 
He  not  only  gave  you  every  earthly  comfort 
that  you  possess,  but  for  your  sake  gave  up 
to  a  cruel  death  his  well-beloved  Son.  O  my 
child,  earth  has  no  love  like  that  \,  and  well  is 
it  worthy  of  the  first  afiections  of  your  heart. 
Your  heavenly  Father  has  said  that  you  must 
love  him,  pray  to  him,  read  his  holy  word,  and 
keep  all  his  holy  commandments,  and  you 
must  not  disobey  him  even  to  please  your  best 
earthly  friend.  But  you  must  not  disobey 
your  father  merely  to  please  ycmrsdf.    You 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  149 

must  obey  him  in  everything  that  is  not 
contrary  to  the  word  of  God.  Do  you 
understand  me,  Ernest  ?" 

"  Yes,  little  mother,  I  always  understand 
everything  that  you  teU  me.  But  somehow, 
I  can't  do  right  all  by  myself.  I  have  no 
chance  to  pray  alone,  and  when  Margaret 
sees  me  she  always  laughs  and  makes  fun. 
I  know  that  papa  don't  like  to  have  me  read 
the  Bible,  or  talk  about  it,  or  about  God; 
and  when  I  forget  and  speak  before  I  think, 
as  I  sometimes  do,  he  looks  so  grave  and 
sober  that  it  frightens  me." 

"I  know  that  these  things  are  hard, 
Ernest.  But  this  is  the  cross  that  God  has 
given  you.  Can  you  not  bear  it  f(5r  his  sake, 
who  bore  such  a  heavy  one  for  you  up  the 
hill  of  Calvary?" 

Ernest  raised  his  head  from  Ru^'s  knee, 
his  cheeks  flushed,  and  his  eyes  grew  bright. 
"  Little  mother,"  he  exclaimed,  "  when  you 
talk  so  I  feel  as  if  I  could  do  anything  for 
his  sake!  That  I  could  even  be  burned  at 
the  stake  like  those  martyrs  you  told  me 
about.  But  when  the  time  comes,"  he 
added,  dropping  his  head  again  wearily 
upon  her  knee,  "I  find  that  I  cannot  bear 
the  littlest  thing." 

10 


150  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"  That  is  the  case  with  older  and  more  ex- 
perienced Christians  than  you,  Ernest.  But 
He  that  knoweth  our  frame  pities  us,  re- 
membering that  we  are  but  dust." 

"  There  is  one  thing  that  you  must  not 
forget,  Ernest,"  continued  Ruth.  "  Your  fa- 
ther loves  you  dearly,  he  is  very  kind  to 
you,  and  though  sadly  mistaken,  has  your 
good  in  view  in  all  that  he  does.  Supposing 
you  thought  as  he  does,  that  there  is  no  God, 
no  Saviour,  no  heaven,  that  this  is  all  the  life 
we  are  to  live,  would  it  not  make  you  very 
imhappy  ?" 

Ernest  drew  a  deep  sigh.  "  It  would  be 
dreadful,  Ruthy,"  he  said.  "  I  know  that 
papa  don't  believe  in  God  or  in  the  Bible, 
for  he  told  me  so,  and  it  made  me  so  sorry, 
you  can't  think.  I  tried  to  make  him  think 
different  one  day,  but  he  only  laughed,  and 
asked  me  so  many  queer  questions  that  I 
didn't  know  what  to  say.  Papa  is  a  man, 
and  I  am  nothing  but  a  little  boy  ;  he  wont 
listen  to  what  I  say  to  him." 

"My  child,  ther£  is  a  difference  between 
the  wisdom  of  this  world,  and  that  which 
makes  us  wise  toward  God.  In  regard  to 
many  things,  your  father  is  far  wiser  than 
you  or  I ;  yet  his  spiritual  eyes  are  darkened ; 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER,  151 

and  it  is  only  God  that  can  open  them  to  the 
knowledge  of  himself  and  his  truth.  But 
God  sometimes  chooses  small  and  feeble 
hands,  Ernest,  to  do  his  most  mighty  woi'ks. 
And  O  would  it  not  be  a  happy  thing,  my 
dear  boy,"  said  Ruth,  taking  one  of  his 
hands  in  hers  and  pressing  it  to  her  lips,  "if 
this  little  one  of  yours  could  lead  that  dear 
father  to  the  cross  of  Christ  ?" 

Ernest's  eyes  kindled,  and  his  slender  form 
*  dilated  with  thoughts  and  feelings  too  big 
for  -utterance.  "  Little  mother,"  he  said  fer- 
vently, "  it  seems  to  me  now,  that  to  do  this 
I  would  gladly  die !  I  love  papa  so  dearly, 
and  it  makes  my  heart  ache  so  to  think  that 
he  is  not  a  Christian.  But  how  can  I  do  it, 
Ruthy  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  how,  my  child.  Not  by 
talking,  for  you  are  not  wise  enough  to  know 
always  the  right  thing  to  say ;  and  even  if  you 
were,  it  would  not  be  becoming  in  one  of 
your  years  to  try  to  teach  any  one  so  much 
older  than  yourself.  There  is  only  one  way, 
and  that  is  by  living  the  Christian's  life. 
By  never  denying  your  Master  in  anything 
that  you  say  or  do,  and  yet  trying  to  please 
your  father  in  everything  that  is  not  contrary 
to  his  teachings.     Will  you  do  this,  Ernest  ?" 


152  ERNEST  RICHMOND  ' 

"  I  will  try,  Ruthy." 

"  If  you  Feally  try,  Ernest,  and  ask  God  to 
help  you,  you  will  succeed.  And  now  I 
have  only  one  thing  more  to  say  to  you. 
You  know  that  I  have  often  told  you  how 
dear  you  were  to  me,  how  tenderly  I  loved 
you,  and  I  have  proved  my  love  for  you  in 
many  ways.  Now  supposing  that  I  should 
meet  you,  and  should  not  speak,  or  even  loot 
at  you,  but  should  pass  along  as  though  I 
had  not  seen  you,  would  you.  still  think  that 
I  loved  you,  Ernest  ?" 

For  a  moment  Ernest  looked  puzzled,  and 
then  his  countenance  lightened,  and  he  said 
quickly,  "I  should  understand,  and  know 
that  you  loved  me,  Ruthy,  just  as  I  love  you, 
now,  and  for  always." 

Ruth  could  not  resist  the  impulse  which 
made  her  draw  him  to  her  bosom.  "  If  you 
love  me  keep  my  commandments,"  she  said, 
as  she  pressed  her  lips  upon  his  forehead. 

For  a  moment  she  held  him  thus,  with  a 
yearning  tenderness  in  her  heart  that  was 
irrepressible.  And  then  she  put  him  from 
her,  and  rising  from'her  seat  said,  "  Now  you 
must  go,  Ernest." 

Eraest  moved  a  few  steps  toward  the 
door,  and  then  turning,  fixed  his  eyes  full 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  153 

upon  her.  "  Shall  I  never  see  you  again, 
little  mother?"  he  said. 

There  was  a  momentary  struggle  in  Ruth's 
heart  to  retain  her  composure,  and  then  she 
said  cheerfully,  "  Weare  both  traveling  to- 
ward our  Father's  home,  Ernest,  drawing 
nearer  every  day.  When  I  reach  that  happy 
place  I  shall  expect  to  see  Ernest  there,  or 
that  he  will  be  coming  after.  Which  of  us 
gets  there  first  will  wait  for  the  other. 
Shall  it  not  be  so,  my  dear  boy  ?" 

"  I  know  that  we  shall  meet  there,"  he 
replied  in  a  tone  of  calm  certainty.  "  But 
shall  I  never  see  you  again  in  this  world, 
Ruthy  ?" 

"That  must  be  •as  God  wills,  Ernest. 
When  you  grow  to  be  a  man,  a  good 
Christian  man,  as  I  am'  sure  you  will  be, 
I  trust  that  I  shall  either  see  or  hear  from 
you." 

Ernest  looked  down  thoughtfully  upon  the 
hands,  so  thin  and  slender,  and  said,  "I 
don't  know,  little  mother,  but  I  sometimes 
think  that  I  shall  not  live  to  be  a  man." 

There  was  something  so  singular  in  this 
remark  that  Ruth  looked  searchingly  into 
the  face  of  the  speaker,  to  see  if  there  were 
any  grounds  for  this  fear. 


154  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

To  the  careless  observer,  he  seemed  to  be 
the  picture  of  perfect  health  ;  but  Ruth's  eye 
looked  deeper.  The  cheeks  were  crimson, 
but  it  was  the  flush  of  excitement,  making 
still  more  apparent  the  exquisite  delicacy  of 
his  skin ;  the  eyes  were  bright,  but  it  was 
an  unnatural  luster,  which  sj^oke  of  another 
and  a  fairer  country.  For  a  moment  a  cold 
hand  seemed  to  be  laid  upon  her  heart,  and 
then  came  the  thought  that  perli^ps  it  would 
be  better  thus,  and  she  said,  smiling,  "  Then 
Ernest  will  get  home  before  me." 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  which  Ruth  broke 
by  saying,  "  Do  you  remember  what  Christ 
said  to  his  disciples  ?  '  Ye  are  my  friends, 
if  ye  do  whatsoever  I  command  you.'  When 
sick  and  sorrowful  remember  these  words, 
Ernest ;  for  it  is  a  blessed  thing,  dear  child, 
to  be  counted  worthy  to  suffer  for  him.  And 
they  who  ai'e  the  friends  of  Christ,  though 
they  may  be  forsaken  by  all  others,  can  never 
be  alone  or  friendless." 

As  Ruth  said  this  her  eyes  rested  upon 
the  countenance  of  Ernest;  but  Ms  were  di- 
rected upward,  a  tranquil  and  holy  expression 
taking  the  place  of  their  formerly  grieved 
and  troubled  look. 

They  were  so  much  absorbed  by  their  own 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  155 

thoughts  and  feelings,  that  they  did  not 
notice  the  approach  of  a  heavy  step  until  the 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  Mr.  Richmond 
stood  before  them. 

Ruth  had  seen  Mr.  Richmond  only  in  his 
most  genial  moods,  when  he  acted  the  part 
of  the  kind  friend  and  the  courteous  gentle- 
man. She  saw  now  how  he  could  look 
when  he  was  angry.  Though  it  was  evident 
that  a  fierce  storm  was  raging  in  his  bosom, 
there  was  no  flash  in  the  eye,  or  curl  to  the 
lip;  but  in  their  stead  a  stern  look,  which 
showed  that  he  was  keeping  his  anger  down 
with  a  firm,  steady  hand,  and  which  was  more 
impressive  than  the  fiercest  demonstration. 

He  darted  a  displeased  look  at  Ernest. 
*'Is  this  the  way  that  you  obey  me?"  he 
said.     "  Come  here  to  me !" 

The  poor  boy  was  so  frightened  at  his 
father's  look  and  tone  that  he  made  no  mo- 
tion to  obey,  but  turning,  clung  to  Ruth. 

Ruth  disengaged  his  hand  from  her  dress, 
saying,  "  Go  to  your  father,  Ernest." 

The  evident  reluctance  of  Ernest  to  go  to 
him  still  more  incensed  his  father,  and  turn- 
ing to  Ruth,  with  a  look  of  scorn  and  sup- 
pressed anger,  he  said,  "  You  have  well  kept 
your  promise,  Miss  Sidney." 


156  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

Very  gladly  would  Ruth  have  offered 
some  explanation,  but  he  would  not  listen  to 
her.  He  strode  across  the  room,  and  taking 
hold  of  Ernest's  hand,  led  him  quickly  from 
the  room. 

Mr.  Richmond  did  not  speak  to  Ernest 
until  he  reached  the  door  of  his  own  room. 
Then,  letting  go  of  his  hand,  he  said  sternly, 
"  You  have  been  a  bad  boy,  Ernest,  a  very 
bad  boy,  and  I  am  seriously  displeased  with 
you." 

Ernest  burst  into  tears.  "  Papa — "  he  said, 
as  soon  as  he  could  speak. 

But  his  father  interrupted  him.  "Not 
another  word,  sir;  there  is  no  excuse  for 
your  conduct.  Go  directly  to.  your  room, 
and  stay  there  until  I  send  for  you." 

Ernest  obeyed.  And  Mr.  Richmond  en- 
tered the  library,  with  a  dissatisfied  and 
gloomy  expression  upon  his  countenance; 
and  taking  up  the  evening  paper,  vainly  en- 
deavored to  interest  himself  in  its  contents. 

"  With  all  her  smooth,  artless  ways,  she  is 
a  hypocrite,  just  like  the  rest  of  them,"  he 
muttered.  And  throwing  down  his  paper, 
he  commenced  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  with  a  quick,  restless  step. 

"  Master  Ernest  wants  to  know  if  he  can 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  157 

speak  with  you  before  he  goes  to  bed?" 
said  Margaret,  opening  the  door. 

"  No ;  tell  him  that  I  cannot  see  him  to- 
night." 

And  again  the  door  closed,  leaving  him  to 
his  gloomy  reflections. 


158  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MR.    RICHMOND    TAKES    ERNEST    TO    THE 
SEA-SHORE. 

"  Is  Master  Ernest  to  stay  in  his  room  to- 
day ?"  inquired  Margaret  the  next  morning, 
just  as  Mr.  Richmond  was  rising  from  the 
breakfast-table. 

"  Certainly  not,  unless  he  chooses." 

"  He  says  that  you  told  him  to  stay  there 
amtil  you  sent  for  him." 

"  So  I  did.  I  had  forgotten  it.  You  may 
tell  him,  Margaret,  that  he  may  come  down 
Btairs  as  usual,  but  that  I  do  not  wish  him 
to  leave  the  house." 

Mrs.  Richmond  was  present  during  this 
conversation,  and  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
vent  her  ill-hnmor  at  some  trifling  disap- 
pointment the  night  previous,  she  exclaimed, 
as  soon  as  Margaret  had  left  the  room, 

"  I  should  really  like  to  know,  Mr.  Rich- 
mond, if  you  have  kept  the  poor  child  with- 
out his  breakfast  until  this  late  hour?  And 
Margaret  tells  me  that  he  eat  no  supper.  I 
shouldn't  be  sul-prised  if  he  was  sick  a  week. 
And  all  this  f«ss  because  he  went  into  Miss 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHEE.  159 

Sidney's  a  few  minutes.  I  declare,  if  you 
are  not  enough  to  drive  any  reasonable 
woman  distracted.  I  can't  imagine  what 
harm  you  think  the  girl  will  do  him.  I  am 
sure  she  has  taken  a  great  deal  of  care  of 
him,  and  I  never  felt  so  easy  about  him  as 
when  they  were  together." 

"If  you  were  anything  like  the  mother 
you  ought  to  be,  Julia,"-  retorted  her  hus- 
band sternly,  "  you  would  not  be  so  willing  to 
give  up  your  child  to  the  care  of  strangers." 

Then,  desirous  of  escaping  the  storm  of 
words,  which  he  knew  was  coming,  Mr. 
Richmond  left  the  room  before  his  wife  had 
time  to  reply. 

He  proceeded  to  the  library.  While  he 
was  busily  engaged  in  looking  over  the 
morning  mail  he  heard  a  gentle  tap  at  the 
door.     "  Who  is  it  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  It  is  me,  papa,"  said  a  small,  tremulous 
voice.     "  May  I  come  in  ?" 

"Yes,"  was  his  father's  brief  rejoinder, 
though  he  did  not  raise  his  eyes  as  he  en- 
tered. 

For  a  few  moments  Ernest  stood  silently 
by  his  father's  knee,  as  if  expecting  him  to 
speak.  But  finding  that  he  took  no  notice 
of  him,  he  said  timidly,  "  Papa." 


160  ERNEST  BICHMOND 

The  pale,  sober  face  that  met  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's eyes  as  he  raised  them  sent  a  com- 
punctious thrill  of  tenderness  to  his  heart. 
"Poor  child!"  he  said  to  himself.  "Yet 
he  certainly  has  behaved  very  badly,  and 
must  be  taught  that  he  cannot  trifle  with  my 
authority."  So  he  said  coldly,  "  Well,  what 
is  it,  Ernest  ?" 

"Dear  papa,  are  you  very  angry  with 
me?" 

"You  disobeyed  me,  Ernest,"  said  his 
father,  his  voice  and  countenance  softening 
in  spite  of  himself. 

"I  know  it,  papa;  but  I  am  very 
sorry." 

At  these  words  every  trace  of  anger  died 
in  the  father's  heart,  and  taking  him  upon 
his  knee  he  kissed  him.  "  What  made  you 
do  so,  my  son  ?"  he  said,  as  Ernest  laid  his 
head  against  his  shoulder.  ^ 

"  I  don't  know,  papa.  I  didn't  think  that 
it  was  anything  so  very  bad  at  first." 

Ernest  lay  for  some  minutes  in  his  father's 
arms  without  speaking,  but  his  thoughts 
were  evidently  busy.  At  last  he  said,  "  Papa, 
I  want  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"Well,  my  son,  you  certainly  cannot  be 
afraid  to  ask  me." 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  161 

"  Was  you  really  angry  with  Ruthy  last 
night  ?" 

"With  Miss  Sidney?  Certainly  I  was, 
Ernest.  She  knew  that  I  had  forbidden  you 
to  go  to  her  rooms,  and  it  was  very 
wrong  for  her  to  encourage  you  to  disobey 
me." 

"  But  she  didn't,  papa,"  exclaimed  the  boy 
eagerly,  raising  his  head  from  his  father's 
shoulder.  "  She  told  me  how  wrong  it  was, 
and  was  just  sending  me  away  when  you 
came  in." 

Mr.  Richmond  looked  both  surprised  and 
pleased.  "I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  he 
said.  "  And  now,  Ernest,  I  would  not  think 
or  talk  any  more  about  it.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you  of  something  else.  You  remember 
that  beautiful  place  down  upon  the  sea- 
shore, where  we  went  last  summer.  I  am 
going  down  there  to-morrow ;  wouldn't  you 
like  to  go  with  me  ?" 

Ernest  looked  steadily  into  his  father's 
eyes,  with  that  clear,  far-reaching  gaze, 
which  showed  plainly  that  he  had  pene- 
trated into  his  motives  for  taking  this  sud- 
den step,  and  then  said,  "I  am  willing  to 
go,  papa." 

"  Would  you  not  like  to  go,  Ernest  ?" 


162  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"Yes,  if  you  would  like  to  have  me; 
though  I  don't  care  a  great  deal  about 
going." 

"  You  will  like  it  after  you  get  there.  A 
lady  lives  near  by  who  has  a  little  boy  just 
about  your  age,  and  you  and  he  will  have  a 
fine  time  together.  And  now  you  may  go 
and  tell  Margaret  that  I  wish  to  speak  to 
her." 

After  giving  Margaret  some  directions  in 
regard  to  Ernest's  clothing,  and  bidding  her 
be  in  readiness  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing, Mr.  Richmond  sought  his  wife's  room, 
with  the  intention  of  acquainting  her  with 
his  determination. 

He  dreaded  the  scene  which  he  knew 
would  follow;  for,  though  Mrs.  Richmond 
had  been  importuning  her  husband  for  some 
weeks  past  to  take  her  to  some  fashionable 
watering-place,  he  knew  the  one  he  had 
selected  was  too  quiet  and  secluded  to  suit 
her  taste. 

She  exhausted  every  argument  at  her  com- 
mand to  induce  him  to  change  his  resolution. 
"  Not  that  I  wonder  at  your  wanting  to  take 
him  to  the  sea-shore,"  she  said,  "for  his 
health  certainly  requires  it.  And  so  does 
mine,  for  that  matter ;  though  it  is  little  you 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHEE.  163 

care  for  that !  But  why  choose  snch  an 
outlandish  place?  Why  not  go  to  New- 
port?" 

"I  do  not  like  to  take  Ernest  to  a  place 
so  crowded.  Besides,  I  cannot  go  so  far  from 
my  business.  It  is  useless  to  argue  the  point ; 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  fully,  and  you  have 
only  to  decide  whether  you  will  accompany 
us,  or  remain  at  home." 

"  Perhaps  I  may  not  do  either."     • 

"  What  do  you  propose  doing  ?" 

"  The  Arlingtons  are  going  to  Newport." 

"  Well,  I  have  no  objection." 

"But  they  have  invited  me  to  go  with 
them,  and  I  really  do  not  see  how  I  can  re- 
fuse." 

Mr.  Richmond  looked  at  his  wife,  to  make 
sure  that  he  understood  her,  and  said  dryly : 

"  1  should  suppose  that  your  husband  and 
child  had  the  strongest  claim  upon  you;  that 
the  feelings  of  a  mother  would  prompt  you 
to  decide  which  of  these  invitations  you 
ought  to  accept,  mine,  or  theirs." 

The  reproach  that  these  words  conveyed 
was  not  lost  upon  Mrs.  Richmond ;  but  it  only 
increased  her  ill-humor,  and  she  retoi-ted: 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  harbor  for  one 
moment  the  preposterous  idea  that  I  would 


170  EENEST  EICH3tOND 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ERNEST  AND   HIS  NEW   GOVERNESS. 

"You  will  not  find  your  duties  very  irk- 
some," said  Mr.  Richmond  at  the  close  of  a 
long  and  serious  conversation  with  Madame 
Dupont  the  morning  after  her  arrival. 
"Ernest  is  remarkably  gentle  and  docile, 
and  with  the  exception  of  the  new  ideas  he 
has  imbibed  of  late,  of  which  I  have  told 
you,  has  never  made  me  the  least  trouble. 
Yet  he  is,  in  some  respects,  a  rather  singular 
child,  very  strong  in  his  likes  and  dislikes. 
While  for  Miss  Sidney,  the  young  girl  of 
whom  I  have  been  telling  you,  he  manifests 
an  afiection  unusual  in  one  of  his  age,  for  his 
tutor,  Mr.  Grey,  who  for  aught  I  could  see 
was  equally  as  kind  to  him,  he  never  evinced 
the  slightest  fondness,  seeming  to  be  rather 
relieved  than  otherwise  when  he  left  us." 

"I  have  occasionally  invited  two  boys 
near  his  own  age  to  visit  him,  the  sons  of  a 
friend  whose  views  are  the  same  as  mine, 
thinking  that  he  must  be  lonely,  and  desirous 
of  making   him  behave   a  little  more  like 


AXD   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  171 

other  children.  Yet,  though  always  attent- 
ive and  pleasant  to  them,  lending  them  his 
books  and  playthings,  and  doing  all  in  his 
power  to  render  their  visit  agreeable,  he  never 
seemed  to  enjoy  their  society,  nor  would  he 
mingle  in  their  plays,  except  at  my  express 
command.  Whereas  there  was  Thomas 
Conway,  the  son  of  a  drunkard,  and  as  rag- 
ged and  dirty  as  such  children  generally  are, 
from  whom  it  is  almost  impossible  to  keep 
him  away. 

"  You  will  readily  suppose  that  the  strange 
turn  his  mind  has  taken  lately  cannot  but  be 
a  source  of  annoyance  to  me.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  you  can  be  of  essential  service  to 
me  in  my  efforts  to  remove  these  impressions. 
The  state  of  his  health  will  not  admit  of 
those  harsher  measures  which  might  be 
safely  employed  with  children  of  a  stronger 
constitution,  neither  do  I  believe  they  will 
be  necessary.  All  that  you  will  have  to  do 
is  to  win  his  love  and  confidence ;  the  rest  will 
be  easy.  I  have  always  noticed,  where  he 
does  love,  that  his  confidence  is  unbounded. 
I  should  like  to  have  you  be  with  him  as 
much  as  you  can,  and  do  your  best  to  break 
up  the  morbid  fancies  in  which  he  indulges, 
and  interest  him  in  other  things ;  inducing 


172  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

him,  if  possible,  to  relinquish  the  superstitious 
habits  he  has  contracted,  and  which  are  dis- 
pleasing to  me." 

"I  will  endeavor  to  follow  your  directions," 
said  Madame  in  her  gentlest  tone.  "  Though 
with  the  best  that  I  can  do,  I  shall  never  be 
able  to  repay  the  debt  of  gratitude  I  owe 
you." 

"  Not  another  word,  my  dear  Madame," 
said  Mr.  Richmond,  rising  and  touching  the 
bell.  "  I  assure  you  that  the  obligation  is 
entirely  on  my  side." 

"  Tell  Ernest  that  I  wish  to  see  him,"  he 
said  to  Margaret,  who  answered  the  bell. 

Ernest  opened  the  door,  and  advanced 
toward  his  fsither  with  his  usual  happy 
smile;  but  seeing  a  stranger  present,  he 
stopped  and  hesitated. 

"  Come  hither,  Ernest,"  said  his  father, 
holding  out  his  hand  to  him.  "  I  want  to 
make  yon  acquainted  with  your  new  friend, 
Madame  Dupont,  the  kind  lady  I  was  telling 
you  about  yesterday.  I  am  sure  that  you  will 
love  and  try  to  please  her." 

Though  quiet  and  retiring,  Ernest  was  by 
no  means  a  bashful  child.  He  approached 
Madame,  and  placing  his  hand  in  hers,  gazed 
earnestly  into  the  face  that  looked  so  smil- 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  173 

ingly  upon  him.  He  submitted  quietly  to  the 
endearments  and  caresses  she  lavished  so  freely 
upon  him,  but  did  not  retm*n  them.  As  soon 
as  he  could  he  went  to  his  father,  and  leaning 
his  head  against  his  shoulder,  fixed  his  eyes 
intently  upon  her  countenance,  watching 
every  gesture  and  look.  As  he  gazed,  the 
eager,  questioning  look  changed  to  one  of  dis- 
appointment, as  though  he  had  been  search- 
ing for  something  that  he  could  not  find. 

Child  as  he  was,  this  quiet  scrutiny  an- 
noyed Madame,  and  partly  to  hide  it,  and 
partly  to  obtain  some  clue  to  his  opinion  of 
her,  she  said,  "You  are  looking  very  earn- 
estly at  me.  Of  what  are  you  thinking,  my 
dear?"      ' 

Ernest  dropped  his  eyes  for  a  moment, 
and  then  raising  them  quietly  to  her  face, 
said,  "  I  was  thinking  about  you." 

Madame  smiled.  She  knew  that  he  was, 
but  she  did  not  expect  this  frank  admission. 
"And  what  are  you  thinking  about  me?" 
she  inquired. 

"  I  was  thinking  whether  you  was  good, 
and  if  I  should  like  you." 

"How  have  you  decided  the  question?" 
said  Madame,  laughing,  and  evidently  ex- 
pecting a  flattering  answer. 


174  ERNEST  inCHMOND 

"  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet." 

In  any  other  child,  this  reply  would  have 
seemed  rude.  But  it  was  spoken  with  such 
unaffected  simplicity,  there  was  such  a  per- 
fect unconsciousness  of  having  said  anything 
that  could  possibly  give  offense,  that  it  was 
impossible  so  to  consider  it. 

Madame  Dupont  was  evidently  somewhat 
embarrassed  at  this  unexpected  reply ;  but 
hiding  her  discomfiture  under  a  gay  laugh, 
she  turned  to  his  father  and  said,  "  You  are 
right,  he  is  odd.  But  after  we  are  better 
acquainted,  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  be  very 
good  friends." 

The  reader  cannot  have  formed  a  very 
favorable  estimate  of  Madame'  Dupont's 
character. 

Both  her  parents  were  disciples  of  Vol- 
taire. She  drank  in  infidelity  with  her 
mother's  milk,  received  it  with  her  father's 
caresses.  When  a  little  child,  she  was  ac- 
customed to  hear  His  name  derided  and 
blasphemed  whom  Christian  children  ap- 
proach with  such  holy  awe. 

Her  father,  who  was  a  merchant  in  easy, 
but  not  affluent  circumstances,  was  very 
proud  of  her  beauty  and  talents,  and  spared 
no  expense  in  her  education,  in  the  hope  that 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  175 

she  would  make  a  brilliant  marriage.  He 
was  not  disappointed.  Upon  her  eighteenth 
birthday  Adela  Dubois  married  an  honor- 
able man,  far  above  her  in  wealth  and  sta- 
tion, to  whom  he  gave,  in  return  for  her 
hand,  a  love  and  trust  of  which  she  proved 
herself  unworthy. 

Young  and  giddy,  the  young  wife  plunged 
madly  into  every  species  of  fashionable  dis- 
sipation. She  had  no  arbiter  but  her  per- 
verted conscience,  no  guide  but  her  blinded 
and  deluded  heart.  To  her  there  was  no 
sacredness  in  the  marriage  vow ;  so  when 
the  tempter  came  he  found  her  an  easy 
dupe.  A  dupe,  did  I  say  ?  Nay,  she  gloried 
in  thus  defying  what  she  termed  the  "tyr- 
anny of  custom." 

Accustomed  from  her  childhood  to  every 
luxury,  the  comparative  poverty  in  which 
she  found  herself,  after*  the  death  of  her  re- 
puted husband,  was  a  source  of  mortification 
and  discomfort.  Accident  threw  Mr.  Rich- 
mond in  her  way,  and  her  mind  caught 
eagerly  at  the  idea  that  his  might  be  the 
hand  destined  to  raise  her  from  her  present 
depressed  situation  to  her  former  ease  and 
splendor.  And  when  he  proposed  that  she 
should  take  charge  of  Ernest,  her  heart  ex- 


176  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

Tilted  as  she  thought  of  the  opportunity  it 
would  give  her  to  put  her  jjlan  into  execu- 
tion. 

And  this  was  the  person  to  whose  care 
the  high-minded  and  sharp-sighted  Albert 
Richmond  intrusted  the  being  in  whom 
every  hope  Avas  centered,  and  around  whom 
was  twined  every  fiber  of  his  heart !  A  wo- 
man, of  whose  past  history  and  character  he 
knew  nothing,  and  whose  chief  recommenda- 
tion to  this  office  was  the  fact  that  she  de- 
nied her  God  and  rejected  her  Saviour.  O 
willfully  blinded  heart !  how  long  will  God 
bear  with  you,  how  long  will  he  suffer  you  ? 
How  true  it  is,  that  the  most  profound  learn- 
ing, the  highest  wisdom  that  this  Avorld 
can  give,  are  but  the  glare  of  a  meteor  to 
the  hearts  destitute  of  the  light  of  His  truth ; 
often  leading  their  feet  still  further  astray, 
and  serving  but  to  make  the  darkness  of  their 
moral  natures  still  more  visible. 

No  Christian  parent  ever  strove  more  earn- 
estly to  impx-ess  the  truths  of  revealed  relig- 
ion upon  the  mind  of  a  beloved  child  than 
did  Mr.  Richmond  to  remove  every  such 
impression  from  the  heart  of  Ernest.  He 
was  excluded  from  everybody  and  every- 
thing that  could  possibly  remind  him  of  the 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  177 

existence  of  God.  His  father  supplied  him 
with  books,  chiefly  of  an  amusing  character ; 
but  those  which  had  in  them  only  the  name 
of  the  Supreme  Being,  or  alluded  ever  so  re- 
motely to  our  obligations  to  love  and  serve 
him,  were  kept  carefully  out  of  his  way. 

Mr.  Richmond  had  recently  purchased  a 
picture,  which  he  valued  highly  on  account  of 
its  great  artistic  beauty.  It  was  a  Madonna, 
holding  to  her  bosom  her  divine  boy.  There 
was  something  in  the  expression  of  the  child's 
countenance  that  reminded  him  of  Ernest, 
and  it  was  this  that  first  attracted  his  atten- 
tion, and  induced  him  to  buy  it. 

Ernest  knew,  by  the  faint  halo  around  the 
head,  that  it  was  a  representation  of  the  in- 
fant Saviour,  and  for  hours  he  would  gaze 
upon  it  with  an  expression  of  rapt  and  holy 
awe  upon  his  countenance.  His  father  no- 
ticed the  deep  interest  he  appeared  to  take 
in  it,  though  it  was  some  time  befoi*e  he 
understood  the  cause. 

One  day  as  Ernest  stood  before  it,  appar- 
ently completely  absorbed  by  the  contempla- 
tion of  its  beauty,  his  father  remarked,  "  You 
like  to  look  at  that  picture,  Ernest." 

"Yes,  papa,"  returned  Ernest,  without 
removing  his  eyes  from  it.   "  It  never  seemed 


178  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

80  clear  to  my  mind  before  that  He  was 
once  a  little  boy  like  me." 

Mr.  Richmond  fcowned  and  bit  his  lip, 
vexed  at  his  oversight.  But  of  this  Ernest 
was  wholly  unconscious,  murmuring  softly 
to  himself,  "  For  my  sake  he  became  a  little 
child." 

True  to  the  line  of  policy  he  had  adopted, 
his  father  paid  no  attention  to  this ;  but  the 
next  morning  the  picture  disappeared. 

As  soon  as  Ernest  noticed  it  he  sought  his 
father,  "  Papa,"  he  said,  "  what  has  become 
'of  that  beautiful  picture  that  was  in  the 
parlor?" 

"  I  have  sent  it  away,  my  son." 

Ernest's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  " O  papa!" 
he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  so  sorry !  It  was  all 
the  comfort  I  had  left." 

Mr.  Richmond  was  both  surprised  and  dis- 
pleased at  this  emotion.  "  How  is  this,  Ern- 
est," he  said,  drawing  him  toward  him,  and 
looking  gravely  into  his  face.  "Do  you 
mean  to  say,  that  with  aU  your  father  does 
to  make  you  happy,  that  picture  was  all  the 
comfort  you  had  ?  Is  this  the  gratitude  that 
I  have  a  right  to  expect  from  you  ?" 

"  I  did  not  mean  exactly  that,  papa.  Only 
that  it  was  all  I  had  to  remind  me — "    Here 


AND   niS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  179 

something  in  the  expression  of  his  father's 
eye  made  him  stop,  for  he  felt  that  he  was 
treading  on  forbidden  ground. 

"  Of  what  I  wish  you  to  forget,  Ernest. 
Is  that  what  you  meant  to  say?"  said  hi? 
father  in  a  tone  of  displeasure. 

The  imusual  sternness  in  his  father's  look 
and  manner  went  to  the  heart  of  the  affec- 
tionate and  sensitive  child,  and  he  turned  his 
head  quickly  away,  as  though  it  was  some- 
thing that  he  could  not  bear.  But  as  there 
dawned  upon  his  mind  the  reason  why  the 
picture  had  been  removed,  he  raised  his 
head,  saying,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  spark- 
ling eyes, 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  offend  you,  papa; 
but  if  that  is  why  you  do  all  these  things, 
I  must  tell  you,  that  though  I  have  no  books 
or  pictures,  or  anybody  to  remind  me  of  my 
Saviour,  that  I  never  can  forget  him !" 

Mr.  Richmond  was  astonished  at  the  bold- 
ness of  this  reply ;  but  the  glimpse  that  it 
gave  him  of  a  brave,  determined  spii-it, 
•wrhich,  though  engaged  in  so  different  a 
cause,  was  so  like  to  his  own,  brought  a 
smile  to  his  lip.  "What  makes  you  think 
so  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Because  I  never  forget  those  that  I  love." 


180  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"  What  makes  you  love  him,  Ernest  ?" 

"There  are  a  great  many  reasons,  papa; 
more  than  I  can  tell  you.  The  first  among 
them  is,  because  he  first  loved  me." 

"What  makes  you  think  that  he  loves 
yon?" 

"Because  he  laid  down  his  life  for  me. 
There  can  be  no  greater  love  than  that^ 
papa." 

Vexed  as  his  father  was  at  the  pertinacity 
with  which  he  clung  to  his  faith  in  God,  he 
was  pleased  at  the  quickness  and  aptness  of 
his  replies.  "  Bravo,  ray  boy !"  he  exclaimed 
laughing.  "  If  I  can  only  get  these  foolish 
notions  out  of  your  head  you  will  make  a 
famous  lawyer  one  of  these  days." 

Thrice  happy  child !  Neither  the  powers 
of  earth  nor  the  gates  of  hell  can  prevail 
against  such  as  thee!  How  vain  it  is  for 
man  to  contend  with  the  Almighty.  From 
the  lips  of  the  Eternal  had  gone  forth  the 
words,  "Lo,  I  have  bought  and  redeemed 
thee ;  thou  art  mine  /" 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  ISl 


CHAPTER  XVm. 

MADAME  DUPOXT'S  DISCOMFITURE, 

Madame  Dupoxt  saw  at  once  that  the 
nearest  way  to  the  father's  confidence  was 
through  his  child,  and  she  immediately  set 
about  trying  to  win  the  love  and  confidence 
of  her  young  charge.  But  she  found  this  to 
be  no  easy  task. 

In  the  first  place,  she  had  no  genuine  love 
for  children.  The  instincts  of  children  are 
unerring  in  this  respect.  They  readily  leani 
to  distinguish  between  those  who  really  love 
thera,  and  take  pleasure  in  their  society,  and 
those  who  merely  tolerate  them,  or  who  seek 
th'eir  acquaintance  from  some  ulterior  motive. 
Ernest  could  not  help  noticing  that  Madame 
was  much  more  lavish  of  her  attentions  in 
his  father's  presence  than  when  they  were 
by  themselves ;  and  though  he  was  too  young 
to  understand  the  cause,  he  had  no  fSith  iu 
her  love  for  him,  and  shrank  visibly  from  her 
caresses,  to  her  great  annoyance. 

In  accordance  to  Mr.  Richmond's  instruc- 
tions, Madame  Dupont  kept  Ernest  with  her 
12 


182  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

most  of  the  time  during  the  day ;  but  at 
night  she  resigned  him  to  the  care  of  Mar- 
garet, and  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  for  with 
all  the  interest  she  appeared  to  take  in  him, 
his  society  was  irksome  to  her. 

One  night,  after  Ernest  had  gone  to  his 
room,  Madame  Dupont  chanced  to  pass  his 
door.  It  was  slightly  ajar,  and  she  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  figure  in  white  kneeling  be- 
side the  bed.     It  was  Ernest. 

To  those  born  of  Christian  parents  it 
would  have  been  a  beautiful  and  touching 
sight,  that  slight,  delicate  boy,  with  his 
small  hands  clasped,  his  blue  eyes  raised, 
and  his  lips  moving  in  voiceless  communion 
with  the  Father  of  spirits.  But  alas  for  that 
lovely  but  unfortunate  woman!  It  awak- 
ened in  her  mind  no  holy  and  tender  memo- 
ries of  her  early  years.  She  never  knfelt 
beside  a  mother's  knee,  never  listened  to 
the  voice  of  prayer  and  supplication  from  a 
father's  lips.  To  her  it  was  but  an  unmean- 
ing and  foolish  superstition. 

Slie  knew  that  this  was  one  of  the  habits  to 
which  his  father  had  alluded,  and  that  there 
was  no  surer  way  of  winning  his  favor  than 
the  fact  that  she  had  induced  him  to  relin- 
quish it,  as  she  had  little  doubt  but  what  she 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  183 

could  in  time.  She  determined  at  first  to 
try  the  power  of  ridicule,  which  she  judged, 
from  his  sensitive  and  susceptible  nature, 
would  be  the  most  effective  weapon. 

Ernest  was  entirely  unconscious  that  any 
eye  was  on  him,  save  the  eye  of  God,  rmtil 
a  merry  laugh  fell  upon  his  ear.  He  invol- 
untarily turned  his  eyes  toward  the  door ; 
but  as  soon  as  he  saw  who  it  was,  and  un- 
derstood the  cause  of  her  mirth,  a  flush 
of  indignation  mounted  to  his  face,  suffusing 
even  his  forehead.  But  it  quickly  passed 
away.  The  sweetly  serious  expression  came 
back  to  his  countenance  as  he  quietly  re- 
sumed his  devotions,  concluding  with  the 
Lord's  prayer,  which,  as  was  his  wont,  he 
repeated  aloud,  in  low,  but  audible  tones. 

This  quiet  self-possession  and  gentle  dig- 
nity was  so  different  from  what  Madame  had 
expected  that  she  remained  silent  until  he 
arose  from  his  knees,  when  she  exclaimed, 
with  another  laugh, 

"Why  Ernest,  what  in  the  world  were 
you  doing  down  there  upon  the  floor  ?  You 
can't  think  how  funny  you  looked." 

Now  Ernest  was  conscious  that  Madame 
Dupont  knew  perfectly  well  what  he  was 
doing,  so  he  made  no  reply. 


184:  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

Madame  misconstrued  this  silence  into  a 
feeling  of  shame  and  confusion,  so  she  fol- 
lowed it  up  by  saying,  "I  suppose  you  were 
talking  to  that  wonderful  unseen  Friend  of 
yours.  Now  tell  me  honestly,  Ernest,  if 
Willie  Sargent  had  come  in  just  then, 
wouldn't  you  have  felt  a  little  ashamed  ?" 

We  have  said  that  Ernest  bore  no  resem- 
blance to  his  father  in  form  or  feature,  yet 
as  she  said  this  there  was  in  the  sudden 
lighting  of  the  eyes,  the  quick  contraction 
of  the  brow,  and  the  compression  of  the  lips 
something  of  his  father's  look,  which  Avarned 
Madame  that,  child  as  he  was,  she  might  be 
going  too  far,  and  made  her  almost  regret 
what  she  had  said. 

"Yes,  I  was  speaking  to  that  Friend,"  he 
said,  "the  best  and  kindest  Friend  that  I 
have.  And  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it  either. 
I  should  be  a  great  deal  more  ashamed  if  I 
coxild  be  so  ungrateful  as  to  go  to  sleep 
without  thanking  him  for  taking  care  of  me 
through  the  day.  Christ  says  that  those 
who  are  ashamed  of  him,  of  them  will  he  be 
ashamed  when  he  comes  in  the  clouds  with 
great  power  and  glory.  And  I  am  sure 
that  I  shall  not  want  him  to  be  ashamed  of 
me  then." 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  185 

Madame  Dupont  was  astonished  at  this 
outbreak.  From  his  usually  quiet  and  gen- 
tle demeanor,  she  had  supposed  him  to  be 
of  a  passive  and  yielding  nature.  But  it 
was  not  so.  Ernest,  though  naturally  very 
affectionate,  inherited  from  his  father  a  quick 
temper,  and  a  strong,  determined  will,  of 
which  he  gave  evidence  even  in  his  baby- 
hood. But  since  this  happy  change  had 
come  over  him  he  rarely  showed  them,  ex- 
cepting, as  in  this  instance,  he  was  very 
strongly  moved. 

It  was  no  part  of  Madame's  policy  to 
obtain  Ernest's  Ul-will,  so,  after  making 
some  soothing  reply,  she  passed  out  of  the 
room,  saying  to  herself  as  she  closed  the 
door,  ""What  a  strange  child!  who  would 
have  supposed  he  had  so  much  spirit  ?" 

Madame  Dupont  thought  that  she  had  read 
Mr.  Richmond's  character  aright,  but  in  one 
respect  she  misjudged  him.  He  was  an  infi- 
del it  was  true,  but  he  did  not  belong  to 
that  school  of  philosophers  who  live  only 
for  the  present  moment.  Of  late  years  he 
had  prided  himself  upon  his  morality.  And 
indeed,  in  some  respects,  he  might  have 
brought  a  blush  to  the  cheek  of  many  who 
profess   to  be  guided  by  a  higher  power. 


186  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

It  is  true,  when  strongly  excited  he  would 
occasionally  take  the  name  of  God  in  vain ; 
but  as  he  did  not  believe  in  the  existence  of 
any  such  Being,  it  was  to  him  but  a  foolish 
habit,  which  he  regretted  that  he  had  ever 
contracted,  but  which  he  tried  to  persuade 
himself  violated  no  moral  principle.  Unbe- 
lief had  made  him  blind. 

He  believed  in  the  strict  subjugation  of 
the  passions  to  the  rule  of  reason  and  of 
conscience,  but  scouted  at  the  idea  that  any 
higher  power,  any  more  unerring  guide  than 
these  were  necessary  to  direct  his  steps 
aright'.  Unlike  Him  who  has  said  that  "  the 
heart  is  deceitful  above  all  things,"  he  had 
an  exalted  opinion  of  the  dignity  of  human 
nature.  He  was  not  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  he  possessed  strong  passions,  but  had 
implicit  confidence  in  his  power  to  control 
them,  often  declaring  that  he  M^ould  show 
Christians  that,  without  the  intervention  of 
supernatural  power,  he  could  conform  his 
life  to  the  highest  standard  among  them. 
But  alas  for  those  who  trust  to  the  integrity 
of  their  hearts,  they  w411  find  them  in  the 
hour  of  temptation  but  a  broken  reed! 
Who  say  to  the  tumultuous  sea  of  human 
passion,  "thus  f:\r   shalt  thou   go,   and  no 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER,  187 

farther,  and  here  shall  thy  proud  waves  be 
stayed !" 

A  further  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Rich- 
mond convinced  Madame  Dupont  that  to 
accomplish  her  object  she  must  proceed  very 
cautiously.  So  she  was  rather  retiring  in 
her  manner  than  otherwise,  never  appearing 
to  attract  his  attention,  and  yet  every  suc- 
ceeding day  strengthened  the  influence  that 
she  was  acquiring  over  the  heart  that  was 
so  strong  in  its  own  strength. 

This  change  from  the  society  of  a  fretful, 
exacting  wife  to  that  of  one  who  seemed  to 
know  by  intuition  his  feelings  and  wishes, 
and  yet  who  was  so  unobtrusive  in  her 
attentions,  could  not  fail  to  be  a  very  pleas- 
ant one.  Madame,  like  most  of  her  country- 
women, was  a  brilliant  conversationist. 
Though  there  was  not  a  great  deal  of  depth 
to  her  knowledge,  she  had  read  extensively, 
and  possessed  the  happy  faculty  of  being 
able  to  display  her  acquirements  to  th6«best 
advantage. 

She  Avas  a  beautiful  reader,  both  in  French 
and  English ;  and  it  was  very  pleasant  when 
he  returned  from  his  business,  wearied  both 
in  mind  and  body,  to  recline  upon  a  sofa  and 
listen  to  the  words  of  some  favorite  author, 


188  ERNEST  EICHMOND 

spoken  in  such  a  musical  voice,  to  which  a 
slightly  foreign  accent  gave  an  additional 
charm. 

There  was  something  very  attractive  in 
this  to  a  man  possessing  his  warm  and  social 
nature,  and  Mr.  Richmond  gave  himself  up 
to  its  enjoyment,  with  scarce  a  thought  of 
danger  to  himself  or  child. 

Alas  for  Albert  Richmond !  was  there  no 
hand  to  arrest  him  in  his  dangerous  course  ? 
Ko  guardian  angel  to  stand  between  him 
and  the  guilt,  as  yet  scarce  thought  of,  and 
yet  so  very  near  ?  Yes,  God  had  sent  one 
in  the  form  of  the  child,  who  was  beside  him, 
and  in  whose  clear  eyes  there  Avas  so  much 
of  purity  and  perfect  trust,  that  every  guilty 
thought  shrank  abashed  before  them.  Who 
can  tell  how  many  times  that  little  hand 
arrested  his  thoughtless  feet?  How  often 
the  arms  twined  around  his  neck,  the  head 
that  nestled  in  his  bosom,  shielded  him  from 
the  p^wer  of  the  tempter  ? 

Ernest  was  always  strongly  attached  to 
his  father,  but  since  he  had  been  deprived  of 
the  society  of  Ruth,  he  never  seemed  so 
happy  as  when  with  him.  On  the  days  that 
bis  business  called  him  away,  he  would 
watch  eagerly  for  his  return,  and  the  first 


AXD   HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  189 

sound  that  would  greet  his  father  would  be 
the  patter  of  his  feet,  and  the  glad  music 
of  his  voice  as  he  exclaimed,  "Papa, 
papa." 

The  extreme  fondness  of  Ernest  for  his 
father's  society  was  a  serious  inconvenience 
to  Madame.  The  restraint  that  his  presence 
imposed  was  irksome,  and  it  created  almost 
a  feeling  of  hatred  toward  the  innocent  cause 
of  it.  It  wounded  her  pride  to  see  how 
quickly  his  father  would  turn  from  her  when 
that  little  hand  was  laid  lapon  his  shoulder, 
or  the  soft  murmur  of  his  voice  fell  upon  his 
ear. 

At  first  she  made  various  pretexts  for 
f?ending  him  from  the  room,  but  in  vain. 
"When  his  father  was  in  the  house  Ernest 
was  always  beside  him,  sometimes  leaning 
against  his  shoulder  or  his  knee,  though  his 
favorite  seat  was  upon  a  cushion  at  his  feet, 
where  lie  would  sit,  watching  his  every  look 
and  motion,  as  though  he  feared  to  Iqse  a 
M  ord  that  fell  from  his  lips. 

One  day,  as  Mr.  Richmond  was  engaged 
in  animated  conversation  with  Madame  Dii-n 
pont,  his  eye  chanced  to  fall  upon  Ernest. 
To  his  self-accusing  heart,  there  was  in  the 
large,  serious  eyes  raised  to  his  an  expires- 


190  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

sion  of  mingled  sorrow  and  reproach  that 
startled  him. 

This  idea  took  such  a  strong  hold  of  his 
mind,  that  when  Madame  left  the  room  he 
turned  to  Ernest  and  said,  "What  made 
you  look  so  at  me,  Ernest  when  Madame 
and  I  were  talking?  Did  you  think  we 
were  doing  anything  wrong  ?" 

"Wrong,  papa?"  returned  Ernest,  in  a 
surprised  tone.  "  I  never  thought  of  such  a 
thing  as  your  doing  wrong.  I  don't  know 
what  did  make. me  look  at  you.  It  was  be- 
cause I  love  you,  I  think;  I  always  like  to 
look  at  those  that  I  love." 

O  guileless  heart  of  childhood !  There 
was  in  this  perfect  love,  this  imquestioning 
trust,  a.reproach  sharper  than  the  fiercest  de- 
nunciation. Mr.  Richmond  never  felt  till 
then  how  unworthy  he  was  to  be  the  father 
of  such  a  child.  "Dear  bey,"  he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  laid  his  hand  softly  upon  his 
head,  "  I  never  will  give  you  reason  to  think 
otherwise."  And  Mr.  Richmond  meant 
what  he  said.  Conscience  was  beginning  to 
warn  him  of  the  folly  and  imprudence  of 
thus  parleying  with  temptation,  and  he  de- 
termined to  be  more  cautious  for  the  future. 
But  alas,  he  trusted  in  his  own  strength ! 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  191 

Mr.  Richmond  went  nearly  every  day  to 
B.,  for  his  business  was  such  that  he  could 
not  leave  it  altogether,  frequently  not  re- 
turning until  after  dusk.  Ernest  always 
Avanted  to  sit  up  for  him,  much  to  Madame 
Dupont's  vexation,  who  for  reasons  of  her 
own  was  anxious  to  have  him  retire  early. 
She  often  managed  to  have  him  go  to  bed, 
but  he  never  went  to  sleep  until  he  had  seen 
his  father;  for  well  Ernest  knew  that  his 
father's  first  inquiry  would  be  for  him,  and 
learning  where  he  was,  he  would  proceed  at 
once  to  his  chamber.  i 

But  all  at  once  a  change  came  over  him. 
From  being  extremely  wakeful  and  restless, 
he  became  very  sleepy  as  night  came  on, 
going  to  bed  of  his  own  accord,  and  falling 
into  a  heavy  slumber  as  soon  as  his  head 
touched  the  pillow.  He  also  looked  pale 
and  listless  during  the  day,  seeming  to  lose 
both  his  strength  and  appetite.  But  his 
father  did  not  notice  this  particularly,  being 
very  much  occupied  by  his  business. 

One  night  Mr.  Richmond  returned,  and 
not  finding  Ernest  below,  went  directly  to 
his  room. 

He  bent  over  the  pillow  where  he  lay,  and 
brushed  back  the  curls  from  his  forehead. 


192  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"  What,  asleep  again  ?"  he  said.  "  My  poor 
tired  "boy.  How  pale  he  looks,  and  how 
heavily  he  slumbers.  Has  he  been  as  well 
as  usual  through  the  day  ?"  he  inquired  of 
Madame  Dupont,  who  was  standing  by. 

"  Yes.  But  he  complained  of  being  very 
tired,  so  I  thought  it  best  for  him  to  go  to 
bed." 

"  You  were  right ;  it  is  better  for  him  to 
retire  early.  It  is  strange  how  much  I  miss 
him,  he  is  such  a  child.  And  yet  it  is  not 
so  very  strange,  for  I  believe  he  is  the  only 
being  that  really  loves  me." 

As  Mr.  Richmond  said  this  a  half  sigh 
escaped  from  his  lips. 

Just  at  that  moment  a  sharp  and  piercing 
cry  rang  through  that  quiet  chamber. 

Mr.  Richmond  turned  involuntarily  toward 
the  bed  where  Ernest  lay.  The  eyes  were 
closed,  and  he  was  apparently  still  asleep  ; 
but  the  arms  were  thrown  wildly  up,  and 
the  countenance,  but  a  moment  before  so 
calm  and  placid,  was  convulsed  with  an 
expression  of  grief  and  horror  that  was 
painful  to  behold. 

Mr.  Richmond  immediately  sprang  to  the 
bed  and  raised  him  up.  Ernest  opened  his 
eyes  and  fixed  them  upon  his  father's  face. 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  193 

"  O  papa  I"  he  exclaimed,  clinging  to  him 
convulsively,  "I  thought  I  had  lost  you!" 

"Lost  me?  My  precious  boy,  you  have 
been  dreaming,"  said  his  father,  seating  him- 
self upon  the  bed,  and  taking  the  terrified 
child  tenderly  into  his  arms. 

"  O,  but  it  seemed  so  real !  I  thought 
that  you  were  falling  into  a  deep,  dark  pit. 
I  was  trying  to  help  you,  but  you  slipped 
away  from  me.  O,  it  was  so  dreadful!" 
And  Ernest  hid  his  face  in  his  father's  bosom, 
as  if  to  hide  from  his  eyes  the  terrible  sight. 

"  My  child,  it  was  nothing  but  a  dream," 
said  his  father  soothingly.  "  Don't  think  of 
it  any  more.  Papa  is  close  beside  you. 
There  is  nothing  here  to  harm  you  or  him." 

Mr.  Richmond,  in  order  to  reassure  his 
child,  smiled  cheerfully  upon  him.  But  a 
solemn  feeling  came  over  him.  The  woi'ds 
that  Ernest  had  spoken  sank  deep  into  his 
heart.  Conscience  was  busy  there.  Well 
did  he  know,  as  no  one  else  save  God  could 
know,  that  his  feet  were  indeed  slipping. 

As  he  looked  upon  his  child,  the  dignity 
and  responsibility  of  paternity  aroused  in  his 
heart  the  strength  of  his  manhood.  The 
slight  rustle  of  a  dress  near  him  reminded 
him  of  Madame  Dupont's  presence.    "  You 


194  ERNEST  RICHMOXD 

must  be  weary,"  he  said ;  "  I  will  not  detain 
you  any  longer." 

Madame  hesitated.  "Is  there  not  some- 
thing that  I  can  do  for  Ernest  or  for  you  ?" 
she  said. 

"  Nothing,"  he  replied  without  raising  his 
eyes.  "  The  child  was  only  frightened ;  he 
will  be  better  soon."  And  Madame  left  the 
room. 

Mr.  Richmond  held  Ernest  in  his  arms 
until  he  had  fallen  into  a  quiet  slumber,  and 
then  laid  him  back  upon  the  pillow.  "  If  I 
was  inclined  to  be  superstitious,"  he  said, 
*'  I  should  say  that  this  was  a  warning  sent 
by  heaven.  But  pshaw !  what  folly,  though 
it  certainly  was  a  curious  coincidence !"  And 
with  this  thought  he  banished  it  completely 
from  his  mind. 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  195 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ERifEST  IS  TAKEN-  ILL. 

The  next  night  Mr.  Richmond  did  not  re- 
turn until  quite  late.  One  of  the  servants 
met  him  at  the  door  with  intelligence  that 
Ernest  was  very  ill.  He  went  to  his  room 
and  found  him  lying  upon  the  bed,  his  limbs 
rigid,  his  eyes  rolled  up  and  fixed,  apparently 
unconscious  of  all  around  him. 

The  physician  sent  for  had  just  arrived. 
By  the  application  of  active  remedies  the 
limbs  relaxed,  and  the  countenance  resumed 
something  of  its  natural  expression ;  but  a 
heavy  stupor  was  upon  him,  from  which  it. 
Avas  difficult  to  rouse  him. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him,  doctor  ?"  in- 
quired Mr.  Richmond  anxiously. 

"  He  is  in  no  immediate  danger,  sir,"  re- 
plied Dr.  Lee  gravely.  "  But  what  is  it  that 
he  has  been  taking  ?" 

Mr.  Richmond  looked  surprised.  "Not 
anything,"  he  replied;  "he  takes  no  medi- 
cine whatever." 

"But  he  must  have  taken  something," 


196  ERNEST   RICHMOND 

said  Dr.  Lee  m  a  positive  tone.  "  He  bears 
every  appearance  of  being  under  the  influ- 
ence of  some  powerful  narcotic;  and  his 
countenance  indicates  that  he  has  been  ac- 
customed to  its  use  for  some  time." 

"  Impossible,  doctor,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Rich- 
mond. "  I  am  strongly  opposed  to  anything 
of  the  kind,  and  no  one  would  dare  to  give 
it  to  him  without  my  knowledge !" 

"  Margaret,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  girl, 
who  had  just  entered  the  room,  "do  you 
know  of  Ernest  taking  any  medicine  ?" 

Margaret  looked  frightened,  and  cast  an 
imploring  glance  at  Madame  Dupont,  who 
turned  pale  and  gave  her  a  warning  gesture, 
but  which  was  unperceived  by  Mr.  Rich- 
mond. 

"  No  prevarication,  woman,"  said  her  mas- 
ter sternly,  irritated  by  this  hesitation,  and 
the  fears  that  it  aroused.  "Answer  me, 
what  have  you  been  giving  him  ?" 

Overcome  by  terror,  the  girl  pointed  to  a 
small  vial  upon  the  mantle. 

Dr.  Lee  took  it  and  put  it  to  his  lips.  "  It 
contains  a  large  proportion  of  laudanum," 
he  said  as  he  placed  it  in  Mr.  Richmond's 
hand. 

Mr.  Richmond  turned  pale  with  indigna- 


.^^^^^»^^ 


Maigaret's   Confusion. 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  199 

tion.  "  Margaret,"  he  said,  "  what  fiend 
possessed  you  to  do  this  ?  Did  you  intend 
to  murder  the  poor  child  ?" 

Margaret  put  her  apron  to  her  face  and 
burst  into  tears.  "  O  no,  indeed,  sir,"  she 
exclaimed.  "I'm  sure  I  love  him  too  well 
for  that,  poor,  dear  lamb !  I  thought  that 
it  was  something  to  do  him  good.  Madame 
Dupont  said  so ;  and  you  know  you  told  me 
to  obey  her  orders." 

Too  true,  he  had. 

"Was  it  done  by  Madame  Dupont's  or- 
ders ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir ;  and  I'm  sure  I  thought 
no  harm  of  it." 

Mr.  Richmond  turned  to  confront  the 
guilty  woman,  but  she  had  left  the  room. 

The  unhappy  man  sank  upon  a  chair  and 
covered  his  hands ;  and  as  the  conviction 
rushed  upon  his  mind  that  he  had,  by  his 
misplaced  confidence  in  a  stranger,  brought 
his  only  child  to  the  verge  of  the  grave,  a 
groan  burst  from  his  lips. 

It  was  terrible  to  see  this  strong  man 
crushed  down  with  such  a  feeling  of  shame 
and  agony.  And  it  touched  the  heart  of  the 
kind-hearted  physician,  who,  approaching 
him,  said:  "Come,  sir,  you  must  not  yield 
13 


200  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

to  despair.  Things  are  not  so  bad  as  they 
might  have  been." 

"  Then  you  think  that  my  child  will  live  ?" 
inquired  Mr.  Richmond  eagerly. 

"  While  there  is  life  there  is  always  hope," 
said  Dr.  Lee  evasively.  "  Your  son's  consti- 
tution is  delicate,  and  it  has  received  a  heavy 
shock.  Still,  as  I  told  you,  he  is  in  no  im- 
mediate danger.  As  for  the  future,  that  is 
in  the  hands  of  God." 

God!  How  terribly  that  name  struck 
upon  his  heaiii !  Was  there  a  God  ?  If  so, 
was  not  this  a  fearful  retribution  ?  But  no, 
it  could  not  be ;  he  would  not  have  it  so ! 
There  was  no  such  being ;  and  even  if  there 
was,  he  could  not  leave  his  child  in  his  hands. 

O  man,  with  whom  the  Spirit  of  God  is 
even  now  striving,  is  it  not  hard  for  thee  to 
kick  against  the  pricks  ? 

Unable  to  face  the  indignation  of  the  in- 
jured father,  and  fearful  of  the  consequences, 
in  case  Ernest  should  die,  Madame  Dupont 
left  the  house  the  next  morning  before  the 
break  of  day,  and  was  no  more  seen  in  that 
neighborhood. 

It  was  some  days  before  Ernest  was  able 
to  leave  his  room,  and  when  he  did  he  looked 
so  pale  and  languid  that  it  created  a  feeling 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  201 

of  sympathy  in  the  hearts  of  every  one  who 
saw  him. 

Dr.  Lee  called  to  see  him  daily,  and  his 
father  gave  up  everything,  and  devoted  him- 
self exclusively  to  him. 

Dr.  Lee  was  a  man  of  sense  and  discern- 
ment, and  he  saw,  with  all  Ernest's  apparent 
tranquillity,  that  there  was  something  on  his 
mind,  that  he  was  not  happy,  though  he  was 
unable  to  discover  the  cause.  He  spoke  to 
Mr.  Richmond  about  it,  and  told  him  that  it 
might  be  that  he  was  pining  for  his  home 
and  mother.  If  so,  to  take  him  there  at 
once,  for  everything  depended  upon  his  mind 
being  kept  perfectly  calm  and  tranquil. 

Mr.  Richmond's  countenance  assumed  a 
thoughtful  expression,  and  there  was  evi- 
dently quite  a  struggle  in  his  heart.  But  in 
the  end  the  father  triumphed.  "I  had  some 
reasons  for  not  wishing  to  take  him  home 
at  present,"  he  said.  "But  if  it  is  as  im- 
portant as  you  say,  he  shall  go  directly." 

As  soon  as  Dr.  Lee  had  left  the  house, 
Mr.  Richmond  sought  Ernest.  He  found 
him  in  his  favorite  seat  by  the  open  window, 
looking  out  upon  the  water. 

As  soon  as  Ernest  observed  his  father,  he 
looked  up  with  his  usual  happy  smile.     But 


202  ERNEST   RICHMOND 

Mr.  Richmond  could  not  fail  to  detect  the 
sad  expression  that  his  countenance  wore  but 
a  moment  before,  and  taking  both  of  his 
hands  in  his,  and  looking  steadily  into  the 
eyes  that  were  raised  to  his,  he  said,  "My 
child,  are  you  not  happy  here  ?" 

"  Everybody  is  so  kind  to  me,  papa,  that  I 
ought  to  be  very  happy." 

"  But,  Ernest,  would  you  be  any  happier  if 
you  were  back  again  in  your  old  home  ?" 

A  faint  color  broke  into  the  boy's  pale 
cheeks,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  something 
of  their  olden  light.  "O  papa,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "I  should  be  a  great  deal  happier 
there !" 

"  Then  you  shall  go  to-morrow." 

Ernest  cast  a  grateful  glance  upon  his 
father. 

"  Is  there  any  one  there  that  you  wish  to 
see  in  particular?"  inquired  Mr.  Richmond, 
after  a  pause. 

Ernest  hesitated.  But  something  in  his 
father's  eye  gave  him  courage  to  speak,  and 
he  said,  "  Ruthy,  papa.  If  I  could  only  see 
her  again  before — "    Here  he  checked  himself. 

"Before  what,  Ernest?" 

"  Before  I  go  hence,  papa,  not  to  return 
again." 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  203 

It  "was  not  these  words  alone,  so  calmly 
and  simply  spoken,  but  the  look  and  tone 
that  accompanied  them  thnt  sent  such  a 
thrill  of  anguish  to  the  father's  heart.  For 
a  moment  he  looked  searchingly  into  that 
thin,  pale  face,  as  if  to  find  some  confirma- 
tion of  his  hopes,  some  denial  of  his  fears, 
and  then  he  turned  his  eyes  away,  as  though 
there  was  something  written  there  that  he 
could  not  bear  to  read. 

"My  child,"  he  said  at  last,  "why  will 
you  talk  so  ?  You  are  all  the  comfort  that 
I  have  ;  I  cannot  lose  you." 

Ernest  looked  at  his  father,  while  a  sad 
and  troubled  expression  shadowed  his  coun- 
tenance. His  father  was  always  so  calm 
and  self-possessed,  that  this  sudden  burst  of 
anguish  startled  him.  For  the  first  time  he 
realized  what  a  void  his  death  would  make 
in  the  heart  that  loved  him  so  fondly. 
"  Dear  papa,  poor  papa,"  was  his  involun- 
tary exclamation,  "  you  will  not  lose  me ! 
Or  if  you  do,  it  will  be  only  for  a  little  while ; 
you  will  find  me  some  day  where  you  will 
never  lose  me  again.  But  I  forgot ;  you  can- 
not understand  this  now.  But  some  time 
you  will.  Yes,  I  am  quite  sure  that  some 
day  you  will  imderstand  it." 


204  ERNEST  RICHMOND. 

It  was  a  strange  sight  to  see  that  frail, 
delicate  child  trying  to  comfort  that  strong 
man,  stroking  with  his  little  trembling 
hands  his  bearded  cheek,  and  looking  into 
his  face  with  such  an  expression  of  tender 
pity. 

And  well  did  Mr.  Richmond  remember,  in 
the  days  that  were  coming,  those  words, 
"«owie  day  you  will  understand  it." 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  205 


CHAPTER  XX. 

ERNEST  RETURNS  HOME. 

We  will  now  return  to  Ruth  Sidney, 
whom  we  left  in  the  pleasant  town  of  B. 
quietly  pursuing  her  unobtrusive  way.  Day 
after  day,  duiing  all  the  pleasant  season  of 
flowers  and  sunshine,  found  her  in  her  little 
school-room,  surrounded  by  the  bright, 
happy  faces  that  looked  to  her  for  aid  and 
counsel  in  every  childish  difficulty  and 
trouble. 

One  would  have  supposed  by  looking  at 
her  that  she  was  completely  absorbed  by 
the  duties  of  her  calling,  that  her  thoughts 
never  strayed  beyond  it.  Yet  many  times 
during  the  day  there  would  glide  between 
her  and  the  faces  that  surrounded  her  that 
of  the  dear  child  whom  she  never  expected 
to  see  again  on  earth,  and  she  would  find 
herself  wondering  what  had  become  of  him, 
and  if  he  still  remembered  all  she  had  taught 
him. 

But  she  thought  of  him  most  at  the  close 
of  day,  when  the  shadows  began  to  lengthen. 


206  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

and  her  hours  of  toil  were  over.  Then  they 
were  always  together,  sometimes  in  the  gar- 
den, which  was  a  favorite  resort  to  them  in 
pleaeant  weather,  sometimes  in  the  house, 
sitting  upon  the  window-seat  in  the  large, 
old-fashioned  bay  window  that  overlooked 
it.  Often  they  would  take  long  rambles  in 
the  woods  beyond,  not  returning  until  the 
sun  was  sinking  behind  the  hills.  Then 
he  was  so  companionable ;  with  all  his  child- 
ish simplicity,  so  old  for  his  age.  This  was 
evinced,  not  only  in  the  elevation  of  his 
thoughts,  but  in  the  language  in  which  he 
clothed  them,  which  was  far  beyond  his 
years,  and' which  was  partly  owing  to  a  nat- 
ural precocity  of  intellect,  and  partly  to  the 
fact  that  he  was  mostly  in  the  society  of 
persons  older  than  himself. 

But  the  time  when  she  missed  him  most 
was  in  those  seasons  when  she  sought  the 
holy  presence  and  benediction  of  the  Guide 
of  her  youth.  O  how  she  missed  then  the 
little  form  that  had  always  knelt  beside  her, 
the  hand  that  was  clasped  in  hers.  And 
when  she  knelt  there  alone,  how  fervently 
did  her  heart  ascend  in  prayer,  that  He  who 
had  bidden  her  "  cast  her  bread  upon  the 
waters"    would    not    forget    his    gracious 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  207 

promise,  that  she  should  "  find  it  after  many- 
days." 

In  confirmation  of  the  promise,  that  in 
blessing  others  we  shall  ourselves  be  blessed, 
her  daily  intercoiirse  with  him,  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  had  been  the  feeble  instru- 
ment of  pouring  into  his  darkened  mind  the 
light  of  the  Gospel,  had  a  salutary  effect 
upon  her  heart  and  life,  unconsciously- 
strengthening  a  nature  too  timid  and  self- 
distrustful. 

She  never  said  to  herself,  "It  is  but  a 
child,  too  young  to  understand  things  of 
such  high  and  holy  import,"  but  what  she 
thought  of  Ernest..  And  never  did  she  lose 
an  opportunity  of  impressing  upon  the 
minds  of  her  young  charge  some  holy  lesson, 
some  divine  truth  of  leading  their  hearts  to 
Him  who  once  took  just  such  little  ones  in 
his  arms  and  blessed  them,  and  who,  in 
encouraging  such  to  come  to  him,  has  said, 
"  they  that  seek  me  early  shall  find  me." 

And  in  the  success  that  followed  her 
efibrts,  she  found  additional  testimony  of  a 
truth  that  it  is  to  be  feared  parents  little 
realize,  that  it  is  a  great  deal  easier  for  a 
little  child  to  yield  its  heart  to  God  in  the 
morning  of  youth  than  in  after  life,  when  it 


208  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

has  become  seared  and  hardened  by  long 
and  familiar  intercourse  with  the  world. 
And  from  many  of  those  who  resisted  her 
every  effort  to  set  their  feet  in  the  right 
path  did  she  receive,  in  after  years,  the  glad 
assurance  that  the  seed,  which  apparently  fell 
in  stony  places,  had  borne  fruit  a  hundredfold. 

Occasional  rumors  reached  Ruth  that 
Ernest's  health  was  failing ;  but  though  they 
fell  very  sadly  upon  her  heart,  as  she  thought 
of  the  infidel  father  to  whose  guardianship 
he  was  consigned,  she  felt  that  she  ought 
not  to  mourn  even  if  her  worst  fears  were 
realized.  But  it  made  her  doubly  anxious 
to  ascertain  whether  he  remained  steadfast 
in  his  faith  in  Him  to  whom  she  had  so 
many  reasons  to  'hope  he  had  given  his 
young  heart.  But  this  she  had  no  means  of 
knowing. 

That  part  of  the  house  occupied  by  Mr. 
Richmond's  family  was  shut  up  during  their 
absence.  Ruth  caught  an  occasional  glimpse 
of  Mr.  Richmond  entering  the  house  or 
leaving  it,  but  she  never  met  him  face  to 
face  but  once,  and  that  was  by  accident. 
She  was  passing  one  morning  from  the  house 
by  an  unfrequented  path  which  led  to  the 
open  road,  which  was  the  way  she  always 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  209 

took,  when  she  saw  him  standing  by  the 
garden  gate  talking  with  the  gardener.  She 
did  not  perceive  him  until  it  was  too  late  to 
retreat  without  appearing  to  avoid  him,  so 
she  passed  quietly  along,  without  seeming  to 
be  aware  of  his  presence.  As  she  approached 
the  gate  he  sprang  forward  and  opened  it, 
and  then  raising  his  hat,  kept  his  head 
micovered  until  she  had  passed  through. 
Ruth  cast  a  quick  glance  at  his  countenance, 
to  see  if  there  was  not  some  irony  mingled 
with  this  deep  respect ;  but  the  gentle  defer- 
ence in  his  look  and  manner  made  her 
ashamed  of  this  suspicion,  and  she  received  it, 
as  he  meant  that  she  should,  as  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  injustice  he  had  done  her, 
and  her  heart  felt  lighter  as  she  passed  along, 
she  hardly  knew  why. 

One  day  during  the  latter  part  of  Septem- 
ber, as  she  was  returning  from  her  school  at 
noon,  she  noticed  an  unusual  bustle  in  the 
main  part  of  the  building.  The  blinds  in  the 
sitting  room  and  parlors  were  thrown  open, 
and  there  was  every  indication  that  it  M'as 
about  to  be  occupied ;  but  whether  by  Mr. 
Richmond's  family  or  some  other  she  was 
unable  to  determine. 

Near  the  close  of  the  same  day,  as  Ruth 


210  ERNEST  RICHMOXD 

sat  by  the  open  door  reading,  she  was  start- 
led by  a  tall  shadow  which  fell  across  the 
threshold,  and  upon  looking  up  she  saw  Mr. 
Richmond. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  surprise  that  was  so 
visible  upon  her  countenance,  or  the  recol- 
lection of  their  last  interview ;  but  his  face 
flushed  as  he  met  her  eye,  and  for  a  moment 
he  hesitated,  as  if  he  hardly  knew  what  to 
Bay.   But  quickly  recovering  himself,  he  said, 

"  You  look  surprised  at  this  intrusion, 
Miss  Sidney,  and  I  do  not  wonder  at  it. 
But  you  will  be  still  more  surprised  when 
you  learn  my  errand.  I  have  just  brought 
Ernest  home,  who  is  very  feeble.  I  will 
not  deny  but  what  it  would  have  pleased 
me  .better  if  he  had  entirely  forgotten  you, 
but  he  has  not  done  this ;  and  as  his  physi- 
cian assures  me  that  any  mental  uneasiness 
will  greatly  lessen  the  chances  of  his  recovery, 
my  object  in  calling  upon  you  to-night  is 
not  only  to  withdraw  my  interdiction  to 
your  intercourse,  but  to  request  you  to 
spend  as  much  time  with  him  as  you  conven- 
iently can,  assuring  you  that  in  a  pecuniary 
sense  you  shall  not  lose  by  so  doing." 

Ruth  took  in  only  one  idea  from  these 
words,  and  that  was  that  Ernest  was  near 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  211 

her,  and  that  she  should  soon  see  him,  and 
tears  came  to  her  eyes  as  she  said,  "O  Mr. 
Richmond,  you  don't  know  how  happy  you 
have  made  me !" 

There  was  so  much  heart  in  this,  such  a 
complete  forgetfulness  of  self,  that  for  a 
moment  a  smile  played  around  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's lips,  though  it  was  a  sad  one,  and 
for  the  first  time  Ruth  noticed  how  pale  and 
careworn  he  looked. 

"  Ernest  is  very  tired  to-night,"  he  re- 
sumed as  he  turned  to  depart,  "and  it 
would  hardly  be  prudent  to  subject  him  to 
any  further  excitement;  but  to-morrow  I 
should  like  to  have  you  come  in  and  see 
him.  I  have  given  orders  to  have  you 
admitted  to  his  room  at  any  time." 

To  appreciate  this  sacrifice  on  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's part,  one  must  fully  understand  his 
character  and  motives.  His  was  one  of 
those  resolute,  unbending  natures,  with 
whom  his  principles  and  opinions  were  a 
part  of  himself  He  was  characterized,  even 
in  his  boyhood,  by  a  strong,  determined  will, 
which  was  never  subdued ;  and  it  was  not  a 
small  thing  that  could  induce  him  to  swerve 
thus  from  the  path  he  had  mai'ked  out.  The 
reader  must  remember  that  the  education 


212  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

he  had  laid  down  for  his  son  was  with  him 
the  carrying  out  of  a  fixed  principle,  and  the 
result  of  many  hours  of  anxious  study.  And 
nothing  but  the  thought  by  what  a  frail 
thread  the  life  of  his  boy  hung,  and  the  hope 
that  when  the  crisis  was  passed  he  would 
soon  become  strong  enough  to  bear  without 
injury  the  decisive  measures  which  he  then 
intended  to  take  to  carry  this  plan  into  exe- 
cution, could  have  induced  him  to  have 
countenanced  anything  which  could  possi- 
bly have  interfered  with  it.  And  this  unex- 
pected deviation  was,  in  itself,  the  most  con- 
vincing proof  he  could  have  given  of  the 
strength  and  intensity  of  the  love  he  bore 
his  child. 

It  would  be  impossible  for  us  to  give  the 
reader  an  adequate  description  of  the  meet- 
ing between  Ruth  and  Ernest.  Ruth  knew 
his  excitable  nature,  and  before  she  went  in 
she  schooled  herself  to  show  as  little  emotion 
as  possible,  fearful  of  the  effect  it  might 
have  upon  him.  But,  to  her  surprise,  he  was 
perfectly  calm  and  tranquil,  meeting  her  as 
though  they  had  parted  but  yesterday.  He 
wound  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and  laid 
his  head  upon  her  bosom  with  a  look  ex- 
pressive of  perfect  satisfaction.    "  Dear  little 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  213 

mother,  I  knew  that  God  would  answer  my 
prayer,  that  I  should  see  you  again,"  he 
said. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  Ruth  could 
speak.  She  expected  to  see  him  altered, 
but  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  change  in 
him.  As  she  brushed  the  curls  away  from 
his  temples  she  noticed  how  distinctly  the 
blue  veins  were  visible,  and  how  pale  and 
thin  his  cheeks  had  grown  since  his  head 
last  rested  upon  her  bosom. 

"Is  God  still  your  friend,  Ernest?"  said 
Ruth,  in  tones  which  she  vainly  endeavored 
to  render  steady.  "  Is  Christ  as  near  to  you 
as  he  used  to  be  ?" 

Ernest's  eyes  grew  radiant  with  a  pure, 
holy  light.  "A  great  deal  nearer,  a  thou- 
sand times  better !"  he  said  fervently ;  "  and 
I  shall  soon  be  very  near  to  him,  Ruthy; 
for  I  am  going  to  him  in  a  little  while,  to 
stay  with  him  forever !" 

"  Are  you  willing  to  go,  Ernest  ?" 

Ernest  looked  at  Ruth  as  though  he  did 
not  comprehend  her,  and  then  said,  "I  am 
very  glad  to  go,  Ruthy." 

"  I  used  to  be  afraid  to  die,"  he  resumed 
after  a  brief  pause.  "It  seemed  so  sad  to 
be  buried  in  the  cold,  dark  ground,  that  I 


214  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

could  not  bear  to  think  of  it.  But  it  don't 
seem  so  to  me  now." 

Ruth  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  How 
old  he  had  grown  in  spiritual  knowledge 
since  she  last  saw  him !  But,  anxious  to  as- 
certain if  he  had  just  grounds  for  this  perfect 
trust,  she  said : 

"What  makes  it  seem  different  to  you, 
Ernest  ?  You  are  very  young  to  die.  This 
is  a  beautiful  world,  and  you  cannot,  surely, 
have  seen  so  much  trouble  in  your  short  life 
as  to  make  you  glad  to  leave  it." 

"  It  is  not  that,  little  mother.  I  know  this 
world  is  very  beautiful ;  and  now  that  I  have 
Been  you,  I  am  perfectly  happy.  But  don't 
you  remember  what  you  read  to  me  once — 
I  never  have  forgotten  it — '  that  to  depart  to 
be  with  Christ  is  far  better  ?'  And  now  sing 
to  me,  Ruthy ;  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  have 
heard  you  sing." 

And  Ruth  sang.  At  first  her  voice  was 
indistinct  and  tremulous,  for  she  was  deeply 
affected;  but  as  she  proceeded,  something 
of  the  holy  calm  which  filled  the  heart  of  this 
dear  child  seemed  to  enter  into  her  own  soul, 
and  it  grew  clear  and  steady.  And  though 
she  knew,  by  the  door  that  softly  opened, 
and  by  the  sound  of  a  quiet  step  near  her. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHEE.  215 

that  she  had  another  listener,  she  did  not 
cease  until  she  saw  by  Ernest's  closed  eyes 
and  regular  breathing  that  he  had  fallen  into 
a  quiet  slumber. 

Was  it  the  sight  of  that  young  girl  hold- 
ing his  child  so  tenderly  in  her  arms,  that 
softened  with  such  a  gleam  of  tenderness 
that  stern  face  ?  No ;  his  thoughts  were  far 
away.  That  hymn  his  mother  had  sang  to 
him  when  he  was  a  boy ;  he  had  not  heard 
it  since.  And  as  he  listened,  the  long  tide 
of  years  rolled  back;  he  stood  beside  his 
mothei-'s  knee ;  he  felt  the  soft  pressure  of 
her  hand  upon  his  head,  and  her  gentle  voice 
pleading  with  him  to  give  his  heart  to  God. 

Alas  for  that  proud,  rebellious  heart !  It 
could  suffer,  but  would  not  yield.  He  shook 
off  this  emotion  as  unworthy  of  his  man- 
hood ;  he  crushed  down  all  those  pure  and 
holy  memories  and  went  his  way,  "  choos- 
ing darkness  rather  than  light." 

One  day,  as  Ernest  was  lying  upon  his 
little  couch,  which  was  so  constructed  that 
it  could  be  wheeled  to  any  part  of  the  room, 
Margaret  opened  the  door  and  said : 

"Thomas  Conway  is  down  stairs,  and 
wants  to  know  if  he  can  see  Ernest." 

Ernest  raised  his  head,  while  his  cheeks 
14 


216  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

flushed  with  pleasure.  "What,  Tommy?" 
he  exclaimed  eagerly.  "  Please  let  him  come 
right  up,  Margaret.  I  was  just  thinking 
about  him." 

In  a  few  moments  Thomas  entered.  He 
had  combed  out  his  tangled  locks  of  hair 
until  they  lay  quite  smoothly  around  his 
finely-shaped  head,  and  his  hands  and  face 
were  really  quite  miracles  of  cleanliness ;  but 
his  patched  and  soiled  garments,  and  bare, 
brown  feet,  looked  strangely  out  of  keeping 
in  that  elegantly-furnished  room.  Perhaps 
some  such  thought  as  this  passed  through 
Thomas's  mind,  for  he  looked  awkward  and 
embarrassed,  as  be  cast  a  furtive  glance 
around. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Tommy,"  said 
Ernest,  smiling  and  holding  out  his  hand. 

Thomas  held  that  slender  hand  awkwardly 
for  a  moment  in  his  hard,  sunburnt  palm,  as 
if  he  hardly  knew  what  to  do  with  it,  and 
then  laid  it  carefully  down. 

"I  heard  that  you  were  sick,  Erny,  and 
BO  I  brought  you  these,"  he  said,  holding 
out  a  little  basket  full  of  ripe  berries.  "  I 
picked  them  down  by  Elder  Brook." 

"  Thank  you.  Tommy ;  they  are  very  nice, 
and  you  were  very  kind  to  think  of  me." 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  217 

"I  am  glad  you  have  got  home,  Emy," 
said  Thomas,  evidently  more  at  his  ease  now 
that  he  had  done  his  errand. 

"  I  shall  stay  only  a  little  while.  Tommy ; 
by  and  by  I  am  going  to  another  home.  O 
Tommy,  you  don't  know  how  happy  it  would 
make  me  if  I  could  only  think  that  some  day 
you  would  go  there  too !" 

"  And  so  I  will,  Emy,  if  you  go.  That  is, 
if  I  only  knew  the  way." 

"  There  is  only  one  way,  Tommy,  and  that 
is  by  Christ.  He  is  the  way,  and  we  can 
reach  that  happy  home  only  through  him." 

As  Thomas  comprehended  the  full  mean- 
ing of  these  words  he  looked  very  sober, 
but  made  no  reply. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  took  up  his  basket, 
and  turned  to  leave  the  room.  "  You  must 
come  and  see  me  again.  Tommy,"  said  Ern- 
est, just  as  he  was  closing  the  door. 

For  some  time  after  Thomas  had  gone  out 
Ernest  lay  quite  still,  evidently  absorbed  in 
thought.  At  last  he  turned  to  Ruth,  who 
was  sitting  by  him,  and  asked  her  if  Thomas 
went  to  school.    To  which  she  said,  "  No." 

"Don't  he  go  to  Sabbath-school?" 

"I  am  afraid  not,  Ernest.  His  father  is 
not  willing  that  he  should  go." 


218  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"Dear!  dear!"  said  Ernest  sadly.  "He 
is  such  a  kind  boy ;  what  a  pity  it  is  that  he 
should  grow  up  so!  How  I  Avish  that  I 
could  do  something  for  him." 

After  this  Thomas  came  to  see  Ernest 
nearly  every  day,  sometimes  bringing  him 
little  presents  of  fruit  or  flowei's ;  though, 
with  a  consideration  hardly  to  be  expected 
from  him,  his  visits  were  very  brief.  Upon 
a  further  acquaintance  with  him,  Ruth  ceased 
to  wonder  at  the  affection  that  Ernest  evinced 
for  him.  He  showed  so  many  indications  of 
a  noble,  ingenuous  nature,  and  an  intellect, 
though  entu-ely  uncultivated,  of  such  unusual 
strength  and  vigor,  that  she  began  to  take  a 
daily  increasing  interest  in  him. 


AKD  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  219 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

MR.   RICHMOND  GIVES  ERNEST   UP. 

Day  after  day,  slowly  but  surely,  Ernest's 
strength  failed,  until  it  was  evident  to  every 
one  but  his  father  that  the  lovely  child  was 
passing  away  from  earth. 

Mr.  Richmond  either  could  not,  or  would 
not  see  this,  still  clinging  fondly  to  the  belief 
that  he  was  growing  stronger  and  better. 
"Ernest  was  never  a  rugged  child,"  he  said; 
"  this  was  only  a  weakness,  some  childish 
ailment  that  would  soon  pass  away.  He 
was  not  alarmed  about  him." 

And  yet  in  many  ways,  by  his  care  to 
shield  him  from  the  slightest  exposure, 
and  the  anxiety  with  which  he  watched 
every  varying  symptom,  did  he  evince  that 
down  deep  in  his  heart  there  were  fears 
that  he  would  not  acknowledge,  even  to 
himself. 

One  afternoon  Mr.  Richmond  entered 
Ernest's  room.  He  found  him  sitting  up  in 
Ms  low  rocking-chair.  His  cheeks  were 
crimson,  and  his  eyes  radiant  with  the  fever 


220  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

that  was  burning  in  his  veins,  investing  him 
with  a  beauty  that  was  almost  dazzling;  but 
it  was  an  unearthly  loveliness  that  pained 
the  heart  to  look  upon. 

But  his  father  saw  nothing  of  this.  "How 
well  he  is  looking,"  he  thought  as  he  gazed 
upon  him.  "  How  are  you  feeling  now, 
Ernest  ?"  he  said,  as  he  stooped  to  kiss  his 
cheek. 

"  I  am  a  great  deal  better,  papa,"  was  the 
reply.     "  I  shall  soon  be  quite  well." 

A  gleam  of  triumph  shot  across  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's face.  Ernest  perceived  at  once  that 
his  father  had  misunderstood  him,  and 
hastened  to  say,  "But  it  will  be  in  that 
land,  papa,  where  the  inhabitants  never  say 
I  am  sick,  where  there  is  neither  darkness  or 
the  shadow  of  death." 

The  smile  of  triumphant  joy  that  played 
around  Ernest's  lips  as  he  said  these  words 
is  beyond  all  description.  But  it  awoke  no 
corresponding  feeling  in  his  father's  heart. 
The  sudden  revulsion  that  came  over  him 
was  too  much  for  his  self-command,  and 
without  saying  another  word,  he  turned  and 
left  the  room. 

Ernest's  eyes  followed  him  to  the  door 
with  an  expression  of  love  and  compassion. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  221 

suqji  as  the  glorified  spirits  of  heaven  might 
feel  who  have  passed  above  all  earthly  care 
and  sorrow.  "  Poor  papa !"  he  said,  and 
sighed  deeply. 

Ruth  was  in  the  room,  and  her  tears  were 
falling  fast.  "  Have  you  no  thought  for  me, 
Ernest?"  she  said  as  soon  as  she  could 
speak.  "  I  shall  be  all  alone  when  you  are 
gone." 

Ernest  put  his  arms  around  Ruth's  neck, 
and  laid  his  cheek  lovingly  against  hers. 
"Dear  little  mother,"  he  said,  "I  know  that 
you  will  feel  badly  for  a  little  while,  but  you 
will  not  be  alone,  for  God  will  send  his  Com- 
forter to  you.  It  is  not  because  I  do  not 
think  of  you ;  but  you  know  where  and  to 
whom  I  am  going.  It  is  different  with  papa ; 
ne  thinks  that  he  is  going  to  lose  me  forever. 
I  said  poor  papa,  but  I  cannot  say  that  about 
you,  Ruthy,  for  those  who  are  rich  toward 
God  can  never  be  poor.  You  told  me  that 
yourself,  little  mother.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber it?" 

There  was  a  time  when  Ruth  had  taught 
Ernest,  but  that  time  was  past.  He  was  the 
teacher  now,  and  she  was  content  that  it 
should  be  so.  Many  times  would  he  remind 
her  of  things  she  had  told  him  that  she  had 


222  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

forgotten,  but  which  he  had  treasured  up  in 
his  heart. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Richmond  brought  a 
physician  to  see  Ernest,  as  renowned  for  his 
truth  and  integrity  as  for  his  wisdom  and 
learning,  and  whose  judgment  in  all  critical 
cases  was  considered  infallible. 

As  he  fixed  his  mild,  penetrating  gaze  upon 
the  countenance  of  his  child,  Mr.  Richmond's 
eyes  were  directed  toward  him  with  a  look 
of  eager  inquiry.  But  he  could  gather  noth- 
ing from  that  immovable  serenity  of  look 
and  manner,  either  of  hope  or  fear,  for  he 
was  not  one  of  those  physicians  who  frighten 
their  patients  by  a  long  and  grave  counte- 
nance; he  was  too  kind-hearted  and  politic  to 
allow  his  thoughts  and  conclusions  to  be 
written  upon  his  .face.  So  he  smiled  pleas- 
antly upon  the  little  invalid,  chatted  cheer- 
fully with  him  a  few  minutes,  and  then  Ifeft 
the  room. 

Mr.  Richmond  followed,  leading  him  di- 
rectly to  the  library.  As  soon  as  they  had 
entered  he  closed  the  door,  and  without 
speaking  motioned  his  visitor  to  a  seat,  and 
then  turning,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  his  counte- 
nance, with  a  look  expressive  of  the  most  in- 
tense anxiety. 


AKD  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  223 

The  good  doctor  had  seen  that  look  too 
often  to  misunderstand  it.  And  though  it 
was  among  the  most  painful  of  his  profes- 
sional duties,  he  was  too  frank  and  straight- 
forward to  attempt  to  hide  from  him  a  truth 
that  he  was  aware  that  he  must  know  some 
time.  So  he  said,  "  It  would  be  cruel  to 
keep  you  in  suspense,  Mr.  Richmond ;  your 
son  is  beyond  the  reach  of  medicine." 

As  these  words  fell  upon  Mr.  Richmond's 
ears,  the  self-control  that  he  had  labored  so 
hard  to  retain  forsook  him.  A  spasm  of 
pain  convulsed  his  features,  and  his  strong 
frame  shook  like  a  reed  in  the  tempest. 

"O  say  not  so,  doctor!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  He  is  my  only  child.  I  have  wealth,  it  shall 
all  be  yours  if  you  will  only  save  his  life  !" 

The  physician  shook  his  head  sadly. 
"  Only  God  can  do  that,"  he  said.  "  Look 
not  to  me,  but  to  him,  sir." 

Again  that  name  smote  upon  his  ears  like 
a  heavy  knell.  Slowly,  but  surely,  there 
was  closing  around  his  mind  the  convic- 
tion that  there  was  a  God ;  but  it  brought 
to  his  mind  no  holy  and  soothing  thoughts. 
He  felt  that  he  was  in  the  hands  of  a  pitiless, 
inexorable  Being,  from  whose  arrows  he 
could  not  escape.    He  could  not,  would  not 


224  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

see  in  this  dispensation  the  pitying  love  of  a 
tender  Father,  but  the  fierce  anger  of  an  in- 
censed Judge.  For  the  first  time  he  ac- 
knowledged that  the  priceless  gift,  of  whose 
keeping  he  had  proved  himself  so  unworthy, 
was  about  to  be  taken  from  him ;  but  with 
this  conviction,  there  arose  in  his  heart  a  bit- 
ter feeling  of  defiance  and  hostiUty  toward 
the  power  that  dared  to  rob  him  of  his 
child. 

He  tried  to  repeat  to  himself  the  infidel 
sentiments  and  doctrines  so  familiar  to  him 
a  few  weeks  before,  but  they  died  upon  his 
lips.  He  endeavored  to  summon  to  his  aid 
the  powers  of  philosophy  and  reason,  which 
he  had  exalted  so  often  above  the  power  of 
God,  but  broken  reeds  were  they  to  lean 
upon  in  a  time  like  this.  Against  the  prog- 
ress of  the  convictions  that  were  pressing 
heavily  upon  him,  he  disputed  the  way  inch 
by  inch.  But  the  two-edged  sword  of  the 
Spirit  was  searching  his  soul,  and  at  last  he 
yielded  with  a  feeling  of  sullen  despair. 
There  was  a  God ;  he  felt  it,  he  knew  it.  O 
how  he  wished  that  he  could  escape  from 
Him.  But  there  came  to  his  mind  the  words 
that  he  had  heard  his  father  read  so  often  in 
the  days  of  his  boyhood  :  "  Though  we  take 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  225 

the  wings  of  morning  and  flee  unto  the  utter- 
most parts  of  the  sea,  lo,  Thou  art  there." 
And  he  shuddered  as  he  thought  how  vain 
that  wish  was. 

During  all  that  long,  gloomy  night  did 
this  wretched  man  battle  with  these  terrible 
thoughts :  alone,  with  no  eye  to  pity  him 
save  His  whom  he  had  rejected  and  despised, 
but  who  was  watching  to  catch  the  first 
penitential  sigh,  waiting  for  the  first  relent- 
ings  in  that  proud  heart,  that  he  might  "  arise 
and  meet  him  while  he  was  yet  afar  off." 

But  in  vain ;  he  folded  his  arms  in  sullen 
defiance.  No  plea  for  mercy  trembled  upon 
his  lip.  He  was  conquered,  but  not  subdued ; 
though  driven  from  every  stronghold,  de- 
feated at  every  point,  he  was  a  rebel  still, 
and  refused  to  lay  down  his  arms. 

When  Mr.  Richmond  came  down  the 
next  morning  he  opened  the  door  of  Ernest's 
room  to  inquire  how  he  passed  the  night. 
As  Ruth  looked  at  him,  she  was  startled  at 
his  pale  and  haggard  appearance.  She  knew 
by  that  expression  of  hopeless  agony  that  he 
had  given  Ernest  up,  and  she  yearned  to 
speak  a  few  words  of  comfort  to  him.  But 
what  could  she  say?  Words  of  mere  hu- 
man  condolence   were  mockery  to  a  grief 


226  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

like  his,  and  what  else  could  she  offer 
that  he  would  receive  ? 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Richmond  received  news 
that  Ernest  was  worse  she  returned  home. 
But,  worn  down  by  a  constant  round  of  ex- 
citement, she  was  in  no  frame  of  body  or  of 
mind  to  receive  calmly  the  mournful  intelli- 
gence that  awaited  her.  While  Ernest  was 
in  apparent  health  she  thought  very  little 
about  him ;  forgetful  of  the  holy  responsibili- 
ties of  maternity,  she  gave  him  up  entirely 
to  the  care  of  others ;  but  now  that  she  was 
about  to  lose  him,  she  gave  way  to  the 
wildest  expressions  of  grief.  It  was  painful 
to  witness  the  effect  of  this  unexpected  blow 
upon  that  undisciplined  heart,  which  had  no 
resources  in  itself,  no  higher  power  to  de- 
pend upon  in  the  gloom  of  this  approaching 
bereavement. 

Ruth's  school  had  closed,  and  at  Mr. 
Richmond's  urgently  expressed  wish,  joined 
with  that  of  his  wife,  she  gladly  consented 
to  devote  the  whole  of  her  time  to  Ernest, 
who  now  rarely  left  his  bed.  This  was  a 
great  relief  to  Mrs.  Richmond,  to  whom  the 
gloom  and  confinement  of  a  sick  room  were 
intolerable,  and  whose  nervous  excitability 
not  only  made  her  incapable  of  rendering 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHEE.  227 

any  assistance,  but  disturbed  the  holy  tran- 
quillity of  him  whose  feet  were  already  upon 
the  threshold  of  another  world,  and  who 
appeared  to  be  greatly  troubled  that  "  poor 
mamma  should  grieve  so  for  him." 

Ruth  had  always  been  veiy  careful  in  her 
intercourse  with  Ernest,  in  all  her  allusions 
to  his  father,  not  to  undeiTnine  his  filial  love 
and  reverence,  to  say  nothing  calculated  to 
impair  that  reciprocal  feeling  of  protection 
and  dependence  which  is  the  holiest  charm 
of  such  a  relationshij),  and  she  was  now 
reaping  its  good  result.  She  did  not  ap- 
prove of  the  practice,  so  much  in  vogue  at 
the  present  day,  of  encouraging  children  to 
teach  their  parents  and  elders,  however 
much  they  might  stand  in  need  of  it,  except- 
ing, indeed,  by  the  quiet,  resistless  influence 
of  a  pure  and  holy  life,  believing  that  such  a 
course  generally  resulted  in  more  harm  than 
good. 

It  was  very  fortunate  for  Ruth,  in  carrying 
out  these  views,  that  there  was  so  much  in 
Mr,  Richmond's  character  to  command  the 
respect  of  those  who  could  not  but  see  and 
deplore  his  great  error.  So  wheH  the 
thought  that  his  father  was  an  infidel  was 
forced   home   to  Ernest's  heart,   with   the 


228  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

grief  that  it  caused  him  there  was  accompa- 
nied a  feeling  of  wonder  how  his  dear,  good 
father,  who  was  so  kind  to  him  and  every- 
body else,  could  fail  to  be  a  Christian.  But 
as  he  drew  nearer  to  his  eternal  home,  his 
mind  seemed  to  be  impressed  with  the  con- 
viction that  some  time  there  would  be  a 
change  in  him.  His  trust  in  God  was  so 
perfect,  that  the  simple  fact  that  he  had 
asked  him  that  this  might  be,  was  sufficient 
ground  for  this  belief,  and  he  rested  upon  it 
with  unwavering  confidence. 

As  Ernest  drew  nearer  to  the  portals  of 
heaven,  his  mind  became  so  absorbed  by 
divine  things  that  he  forgot  his  father's 
repugnance  to  the  subject  of  religion.  But 
all  that  he  said  was  spoken  so  unconsciously, 
and  with  so  little  effort,  that  it  carried  double 
weight  to  the  heart  of  him  who,  though  he 
listened  with  so  much  apparent  indifference, 
never  forgot  a  word  that  fell  from  his 
lips. 

Ernest  had  had  no  Bible  since  his  father 
had  taken  his  books  from  him,  but  somewhere 
he  had  picked  up  a  leaf  from  Revelations, 
containing  a  description  of  the  new  Jerusa- 
lem. This  torn  and  crumpled  leaf  was  his 
constant  companion  j  he  read  it  over  and 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  229 

over,  and  every  time  it  had  a  new  meaning, 
and  seemed  to  afford  him  a  fresh  delight. 

One  day  Mr.  Richmond  opened  the  door 
of  Ernest's  room  and  approached  the  bed 
where  he  was  recHning,  propped  up  by  pil- 
lows. One  hand,  almost  waxen  in  its  trans- 
parency, supported  the  head,  which  with  its 
wealth  of  curls  looked  almost  too  heavy  for 
the  slender  neck;  the  other  held  that  little 
bit  of  torn  paper.  Ernest's  eyes  were  fixed 
intently  upon  it,  while  his  lips  were  parted 
with  a  bright  and  happy  smile. 

"You  are  looking  very  happy,  Ernest," 
said  his  father. 

Ernest  laid  the  leaf  down  upon  the  bed, 
and  raised  his  eyes  serenely  to  his  father's 
face.  "  I  am  very  happy,  dear  papa,"  he  re- 
plied. "There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a 
happier  boy  than  I." 

A  half  sigh  struggled  up  to  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's lips.  What  a  contrast  this  perfect 
peace  was  to  the  wild  unrest  in  his  own 
soul.  As  this  thought  passed  through  his 
mind,  he  took  up,  half  mechanically,  the 
paper  that  Ernest  was  reading  when  he 
came  in. 

As  he  did  so  Ernest  looked  troubled,  and 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  father's  arm,  he  said, 


230  EENEST  RICHMOND. 

"Dear  papa,  do  not  take  it  from  me." 

The  sharpest  reproach  could  not  have 
pierced  Mr.  Richmond's  heart  like  these 
simple  words,  so  tremulously  and  softly- 
spoken. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  would  be  imkind  to 
you,  Ernest?"  he  said. 

Ernest  saw  in  a  moment  that  he  had 
wounded  his  father's  feelings,  and  he  re- 
turned quickly: 

"  You  could  not  be  unkind,  papa ;  only  I 
know  that  we  think  differently  in  regard  to 
some  things,  and  I  was  afraid  that  you 
would  think  it  was  best." 

Mr.  Richmond  seated  himself  by  the  bed, 
and  lifting  Ernest's  head  from  the  pillow  laid 
it  upon  his  bosom.  "My  poor  child!"  he 
exclaimed  involuntarily,  as  he  thought  how 
uncomplainingly  he  had  borne  what  was  to 
him  such  a  serious  deprivation. 

As  his  father  said  this, 'Ernest's  counte- 
nance grew  radiant  with  the  holy  enthusiasm 
that  seemed  almost  like  inspii-ation,  and  which 
gave  a  singular  elevation  to  his  thoughts  and 
language.  "  How  can  you  call  me  poor,  pa- 
pa?" he  exclaimed.  "I,  who  shall  so  soon 
walk  the  golden  streets  of  the  new  Jerusa- 
lem ;  one  of  that  happy  throng  '  whose  gar- 


AND   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  231 

ments  are  made  white  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb !'  The  king  upon  his  throne  is  not 
half  so  rich  as  I !" 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Richmond  held  him 
closely  to  his  heart,  as  though  he  feared  to 
let  him  go,  lest  he  should  lose  him ;  and 
then,  as  if  he  had  formed  some  sudden  de- 
termination, he  laid  him  back  upon  the  pil- 
low, and  left  the  room. 

He  went  directly  to  a  bookstore.  The 
proprietor,  who  Avas  acquainted  with  him  by 
reputation,  was  somewhat  surprised  to  see 
the  well-known  free-thinker  enter  his  shop 
and  inquire  for  Bibles.  But  too  well-bred 
to  manifest  it,  he  displayed  with  his  usual 
urbanity  his  numerous  assortment. 

Mr.  Richmond  selected  a  beautiful  one, 
bound  in  velvet  and  gold,  and  taking  the 
package  that  contained  it  returned  home. 
Meeting  Ruth  in  the  hall,  he  handed  it  to 
her,  requesting  her  to  give  it  to  Ernest. 

He  did  not  see  Ernest  again  until  evening. 
When  he  entered  the  room  he  lay  with  his 
eyes  closed,  apparently  sleeping;  but  he 
soon  opened  them,  and  perceiving  that  his 
father  was  standing  by  the  bed,  he  looked 
up  into  his  face  and  smiled.  "You  made 
me  very  happy  to-day,  papa,"  he  said,  plac- 
15 


232  EKNEST  RICHMOND 

ing  his  hand  upon  the  Bible  that  was  lying 
by  his  side. 

In  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  Mr.  Richmond's 
voice  grew  husky  as  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  if  I 
have  given  you  any  pleasure,  Ernest." 

Ernest  regarded  his  father  attentively,  with 
a  clear,  penetrating  gaze  that  seemed  to 
search  his  very  soul.  "  You  look  unhappy, 
papa,"  he  said.  "  Has  anything  occurred  to 
trouble  you  ?" 

The  inquiry  sprang  to  Mr.  Richmond's 
lip,  How  was  it  possible  for  him  to  feel  other- 
wise? But  he  forbore  to  speak  it,  merely 
saying,  "Nothing  new  has  occurred,  my 
child." 

The  quick  sympathies  of  Ernest,  which  at 
times  seemed  almost  like  intuition,  were  in- 
tensified by  his  approaching  dissolution.  He 
saw  that  his  father  was  suffering,  and  that  it 
proceeded  from  some  deeper  cause  than  the 
loss  he  Avas  about  to  sustain.  He  wanted  to 
comfort  him,  but  did  not  know  how. 

"  There  is  nothing  that  can  give  the  soul 
such  perfect  peace  as  this  book,  papa,"  he 
said  at  last,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  Bible, 
and  lifting  his  eyes  with  a  look  that  seemed 
to  say  that  he  had  said  something  that 
could  not  be  denied. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  233 

To  this  his  fathei*  made  no  reply,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  Ernest  closed  his  eyes  and 
seemed  to  slumber. 

For  nearly  two  hours  Mr.  Richmond  sat 
by  Ernest,  holding  his  hand  in  his,  and  watch- 
ing his  faint  breathing.  The  contraction  of 
the  brow,  and  the  rigid  lines  around  the 
mouth,  showed  how  much  he  suffered,  but 
he  gave  no  other  token  of  it ;  the  thoughts 
that  were  busy  in  his  heart  were  known  only 
to  God. 


234  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

PASSING  OVER  THE   DARK  RIVER. 

During  the  earlier  stages  of  his  sickness 
Ernest  suffered  little  pain,  or  if  he  did  he  did 
not  manifest  it,  for  he-  rarely  complained. 
But  a  few  days  before  he  died  there  seemed 
to  be  some  obstruction  upon  the  chest, 
and  his  efforts  to  breathe  were  agonizing 
to  the  hearts  that  loved  him,  though  he 
bore  it  with  unwavering  cheerfulness.  He 
had  intervals  of  rest,  howef  er,  during  which 
he  was  able  to  converse  with  those  around 
him. 

During  one  of  these  seasons  his  father  and 
mother  were  present,  and  he  heard  the  latter 
address  the  former  in  words  expressive  of 
reproach  for  his  infidel  sentiments ;  a  style 
of  conversation  in  which  Mrs.  Richmond  was 
very  apt  to  indulge,  though  she  gave  so  little 
evidence  herself  that  her  heart  was  right 
toward  God. 

Though  spoken  very  low,  they  reached  the 
cars  supernaturally  quickened  to  every  sound, 
and  turning  to  his  mother,  Ernest  said  ab- 


^^  ^  ^\; -^SiSVj^^-^ 


"^^-N    ^v--- 


Ernest's   Death-bed. 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  237 

ruptly,  "  Do  you  believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  mamma?" 

Mrs.  Richmond  looked  astonished,  almost 
indignant,  at  this  question.  "To  be  sure  I 
do,"  she  replied.  "  What  made  you  ask  me 
that  question  ?" 

"Nothing,  mamma,  only  you  never  talk 
about  him  as  though  you  loved  him  any." 

If  Mrs.  Richmond's  heart  had  not  been 
completely  crusted  over  by  worldly  pride, 
these  words  would  have  opened  her  eyes  to 
the  fact  that,  living  directly  contrary  to  his 
teachings,  she  was  far  more  culpable  than 
those  who  do  not  believe  in  him.  As  it  was, 
a  glimmer  of  the  truth  seemed  to  reach  her, 
for  she  looked  uneasy  as  she  said, 

"  I  hope  that  I  am  a  Christian,  Ernest." 

Ernest  looked  at  his  mother  as  she  said 
this.  It  was  evident  to  him  that  she  did  not 
love  the  Saviour ;  yet  to  his  loving,  reveren- 
tial spirit  it  seemed  so  incomprehensible  that 
any  one  could  believe  in  Christ  and  not  love 
him,  that  he  could  not  understand  it. 

After  lying  quite  still  for  a  little  while,  he 
said : 

"  I  shall  soon  leave  you,  mamma,  yet  I  am 
very  happy ;  '  for  I  am  gping  to  your  Father 
and  my  Father,  to  your  God  and  my  God.' 


238  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

In  the  beautiful  home  that  he  has  prepared 
for  those  who  love  him  I  shall  expect  to  see 
you  some  day,  mamma,  and  you  must  not 
disappoint  me." 

Though  Mrs.  Richmond  knew  that  Ernest 
must  die,  she  could  not  bear  the  slightest 
allusion  to  it.  She  immediately  burst  into 
such  a  passion  of  tears  and  sobs  as  so  greatly 
to  distress  Ernest  that  Mr.  Richmond,  plac- 
ing his  arm  aroimd  his  wife,  drew  her  as 
quickly  as  possible  from  the  room. 

For  some  time  Ernest  api>eared  to  be 
greatly  agitated.  Ruth,  who  could  not  bear 
to  see  him  look  so  troubled,  bent  over  him, 
striving  by  words  and  caresses  to  restore 
him  to  his  wonted  tranquillity. 

"  My  darling,"  she  said,  softly  smoothing 
the  hair  from  his  forehead,  "  God  will  make 
all  these  things  right  if  you  only  trust  him.'* 

"  I  know  it,  little  mother ;  but  it  troubles 
me  to  think  that  I  cannot  make  them  under- 
stand me." 

"  But,  Ernest,  you  have  a  Friend  who  not 
only  understands  all  things,  but  can  do  all 
things.  Can  you  not  cast  your  burden  on 
him  ?" 

Ernest  smiled  through  his  falling  tears. 

"Dear  Ruthy,"  he  said,  "  you  always  know 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  239 

how  to  comfort  me.  But  do  you  really 
believe  that  God  does  whatever  we  ask  him 
to  do  ?" 

"  I  believe,  Ernest,  that  God  answers  the 
prayers  of  all  his  children  who  approach  him 
in  the  right  spirit,  though  not  always  in  the 
way  they  expect  him  to.  It  is  our  happy 
privilege  to  make  known  to  him  all  our 
wants  and  sorrows,  as  to  a  loving  and  tender 
father ;  it  is  his  prerogative  to  grant  or  to 
deny,  as  it  seems  good  in  his  sight.  He  who 
sees  the  end  as  we  see  the  beginning,  can 
do  a  great  deal  better  for  us  than  we  can 
do  by  ourselves.  Even  Christ,  our  perfect 
pattern,  said,  "  Thy  will  be  done ;"  "  not 
my  will  but  thine." 

As  Ernest  listened,  a  serene  and  tranquil 
expression  gradually  settled  over  every  feat- 
ure. "  Not  my  will,  but  thine,"  he  said, 
raising  his  eyes  upward. 

Ruth  kissed  his  cheek,  the  tears  springing 
to  her  eyes  as  she  thought  how  diflScult  it 
was  for  her  to  say  that  in  reference  to  him. 

"  I  am  not  fit  to  teach  you,  Ernest,"  she 
said.  "But  don't  talk  any  more  now,  but 
shut  your  eyes,  and  see  if  you  cannot  sleep  a 
little." 

Ernest  did  9,a  she  told  him,  and  was  soon 


240  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

quietly  sleeping.  As  Ruth  looked  upon  bim 
she  saw  that  a  change  had  come  over  him. 
He  could  scarcely  have  looked  more  white 
and  deathly  had  he  been  lying  in  his  coffin  ; 
and  several  times  she  bent  her  head  to  the 
pillow,  to  discover  by  his  breathing  if  he  was 
indeed  living. 

When  Ernest  awoke,  Thomas  Conway 
was  in  the  room.  As  soon  as  he  perceived 
him  he  smiled,  and  motioned  him  to  come 
nearer. 

"  I  have  been  dreaming  of  that  hapj^y 
home  to  which  I  am  going,"  he  said,  as  the 
boy  came  to  the  bedside.  "And  O  it  is 
more  beautiful  than  I  have  Avords  to  tell 
you  !    I  am  going  there  very  soon.  Tommy." 

The  poor  boy  struggled  bravely  against 
the  sobs  that  shook  his  frame,  but  in  vain ; 
they  sounded  distinctly  through  that  quiet 
chamber,  and  Ruth  came  forward  to  take 
him  from  the  room. 

"  Dear  Ruthy,"  pleaded  Ernest,  "  let  him 
stay,  I  have  something  to  say  to  him,  and 
there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

Ruth  could  not  withstand  that  look,  and 
drew  back,  though  she  feared  that  he  was 
going  beyond  his  strength. 

Ernest  looked  compassionately  at  the  still 


AXD  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  241 

weeping  boy,  and  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
as  though  he  was  trying  to  think  of  some- 
thing to  comfort  him. 

"  If  you  loved  me  you  would  rejoice,"  he 
said  at  last,  unconsciously  using  the  lan- 
guage of  Scripture,  "  because  I  go  to  my  Fa- 
ther." 

Thomas,  unable  to  speak,  made  no  reply. 

"I  am  going  to  give  you  ^mething  to 
keep  in  memory  of  me.  It  is  the  most  pre- 
cious thing  that  I  have,  this  book,  Tommy," 
resumed  Ernest,  laying  his  little  wasted  hand 
upon  the  Bible,  that  was  in  its  usual  place 
by  his  pillow.  "  If  you  will  follow  its  teach- 
ings, it  will  make  your  dying  bed  as  soft 
and  easy  as  it  has  made  mine  to-day.  If 
you  will  choose  Ilim,  of  whom  it  speaks,  to 
be  your  friend  and  guide,  our  parting  will 
not  be  forever.  Wont  you  try  to  do  this, 
Tommy  ?" 

In  a  voice  almost  inarticulate,  Thomas 
gave  the  required  promise. 

Faint  and  exhausted,  Ernest  closed  his 
eyes  ;  and  Thomas,  unable  to  control  his 
feelings,  and  unwilling  to  disturb  him,  crept 
softly  from  the  room. 

For  nearly  an  hour  Ernest  lay  without 
speaking  ;  he  then  inquired  for  his  fatlier. 


242  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

Mr.  Richmond  came,  and  bent  tenderly 
over  his  pillow. 

"Take  me  up  in  your  arms,  papa,"  said 
Ernest,  "so  that  I  can  breathe  easier.  I 
want  to  speak  to  you." 

As  his  father  raised  him  up,  Ernest  twined 
his  arms  feebly  around  his  neck. 

"  Dear  papa,"  he  said,  "  I  have  two  re- 
quests to  niake;  I  am  sure  that  you  will 
grant  them." 

Mr.  Richmond  was  deeply  affected. 

"  My  precious  child,  if  it  is  a  possible 
thing  I  certainly  will,"  he  said. 

"  You  will  have  no  little  boy  when  I  am 
gone." 

It  was  impossible  for  Mr.  Richmond  to 
stifle  the  moan  that  the  anguish  caused  by 
these  unexpected  words  wrung  from  his  lips. 

Ernest  looked  troubled. 

"  Forgive  me,  papa,"  he  said.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  pain  you.  I  was  thinking  of  Tom- 
my, poor  Tommy,  who  has  such  a  bad  home, 
and  no  one  to  love  or  care  for  him.  I  wish 
that  you  would  let  him  take  my  place, 
papa." 

"No  one  can  take  your  place  to  me, 
Ernest." 

"  I  know  that,  papa.     I  don't  expect  hinx 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  243 

to  take  my  place  in  your  heart,  exactly ;  at 
least  not  now.  But  I  want  you  to  clothe 
him,  and  send  him  to  school,  and  take  care 
of  him  until  he  is  able  to  take  care  of  him- 
self.    Wont  you  do  that,  papa?" 

"  Yes,  Ernest,  I  think  that  I  can  promise 
you  that  I  will  do  that,  and  very  gladly." 

"  But,  papa,  I  want  Tommy  to  grow  up  a 
good  man,  a  Christian  man." 

"  I  understand  you,  Ernest ;  everything 
shall  be  as  you  wish." 

Ernest  looked  satisfied,  and  yet  there  ap- 
peared to  be  something  else  on  his  mind. 
His  father,  perceiving  this,  said,  "  You  told 
me  that  you  had  two  requests,  Ernest. 
What  is  the  other  ?"  ' 

Ernest  was  silent,  turning  such  a  wishful, 
imploring  look  upon  his  father  that  he 
shrank  before  it.  "  My  child,"  he  said, 
"  tell  papa  what  it  is  that  you  want.  If  it 
is  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  it  shall 
be  done;  your  lightest  wish  shall  be  held 
sacred." 

"  It  is  but  a  little  thing,  papa ;  you  can 
do  it,  and  I  know  you  will,  if  it  is  only  be- 
cause I  ask  you.  You  know  that  there  is 
something  very  near  to  me,  about  which  we 
never  talk.    I  cannot  tell  yon  why  I  believe 


244  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

in  God,  and  in  the  Bible ;  I  only  know  that 
I  do  believe,  and  that  this  belief  makes  me 
very  happy.  I  am  but  a  little  ignorant  boy, 
and  capnot  be  expected  to  teach  you,  who 
are  so  much  older  and  wiser  than  I.  All 
that  I  ask  of  you  is  that  you  will  read  the 
Bible,  and  read  it  carefully.  If  you  will  only 
do  this,  God  will  do  the  rest.  I  know  that 
you  will  believe,  you  cannot  help  it !  Prom- 
ise me  that  you  will  do  this,  papa ;  I  cannot 
die  in  peace  unless  you  do." 

"  I  promise,  Ernest." 

The  triumphant  look  that  sat  upon  the 
countenance  of  the  dying  boy  was  in  strik- 
ing contrast  to  the  deathly  pallor  that  over- 
spread every  feature. 

"  Now  my  work  is  done !"  he  said,  raising 
his  eyes  upward.  "I  am  ready  now !  I  know 
that  I  shall  meet  you  again.  O  papa !  the 
light,  the  glory — " 

Here  the  words  died  upon  his  tongue ;  his 
eyes  closed,  and  he  lay  motionless  in  his 
father's  arms. 

Mr.  Richmond  laid  him  back  upon  the  pil- 
low, and  sprang  to  the  door  to  summon  as- 
sistance. 

"He  is  dying!"  he  said  to  Ruth  as  she 
entered  the  room.     And  so  it  seemed ;  but 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  245 

it  was  not  death.  He  soon  revived  so  as  to 
recognize  those  around  him. 

The  first  persons  that  he  noticed  were  liis 
father  and  Thomas,  who  were  standing  to- 
gether by  his  bed.  He  looked  at  them  both 
with  an  expression  of  unutterable  love,  and 
then  making  a  strong  effort,  took  the  hand 
of  Thomas  and  placed  it  in  his  father's,  giv- 
ing the  latter  an  appealing  look  that  he  could 
not  fail  to  understand. 

Mr.  Richmond  could  not  reject  that  hand; 
his  fingers  closed  over  it  with  a  convulsive 
clasp.  Yet  as  he  looked  upon  the  boy  at  his 
side,  so  strong  and  full  of  life,  and  then  upon 
his  dying  child,  the  child  of  so  much  prom- 
ise, of  so  many  hopes,  a  bitter  feeling  came 
over  him  that  he  strove  in  vain  to  repress. 

It  may  be  that  Ernest  noticed  it,  for  he 
said, 

"  Tommy  has  been  very  kind  to  me,  pajia ; 
you  will  love  him  for  that  Avhen  I  am  gone?" 

"I  will  love  all  who  have  been  kind  to 
you,  Ernest." 

The  eyes  of  the  dying  child  kindled ;  the 
high  and  holy  thoughts  which  were  strug- 
gling for  utterance  overpowered,  for  a  mo- 
ment, the  mortal  weakness  that  was  upon  him. 

"  And  yet  there  is  One,"  he  said  in  clear 


246  ERNEST  KICHMOND 

and  thrilling  tones  that  were  never  forgotten 
by  those  who  heard  them,  "  who  has  been 
kinder  to  me  than  any  earthly  friend  can  be, 
whom  you  have  not  loved,  papa !" 

Mr.  Richmond  made  no  reply.  What 
could  he  say  ?  He  sat  perfectly  motionless, 
with  his  head  bowed  upon  his  hands.  There 
was  a  time  when  all  these  holy  sayings  came 
back  to  him ;  but  now  there  was  room  for 
only  one  thought  in  his  heart,  and  that  was 
the  agonizing  one  that  his  child,  his  only 
child,  was  dying. 

Ruth  came  to  the  bedside  to  give  him  some 
restorative.  When  she  took  it  from  his  lips 
he  said : 

"  Dear  Ruthy,  don't  you  remember  what 
a  bad,  unhappy  boy  I  was  once  ?  So  igno- 
rant that  I  did  not  know  even  the  name  of 
God.  Now  I  shall  soon  be  like  an  angel,  a 
bright  and  happy  angel,  before  his  throne 
forever.  There  are  other  children  almost  as 
ignorant  as  I  was ;  teach  them,  little  mother, 
what  you  have  taught  me,  that  nothing  can 
make  us  so  happy,  in  life  and  in  death,  as 
the  love  of  Christ." 

He  then  sank  into  a  heavy  stupor,  from 
which  it  was  thought  that  he  would  not 
ai-ouse  again. 


AND  UIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  247 

Ruth  never  left  him  a  moment,  hoping  to 
catch  a  parting  word  or  glance.  She  was 
not  disappointed.  A  few  minutes  before  he 
died  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  smiled  upon 
her  as  she  bent  over  him.  She  saw  that  the 
spirit  was  passing. 

"  Ernest,  dear  child,"  she  said,  "  speak  to 
me  if  you  can ;  if  it  is  only  one  word." 

The  light  from  the  Eternal  City,  to  which 
he  was  so  near,  shone  full  upon  the  counte- 
nance of  the  dying  boy,  giving  it  a  sublime 
and  triumphant  expression  that  no  words 
can  describe.     He  raised  his  eyes  upward. 

"I  am  almost  home!"  he  cried. 

Then  there  crept  slowly  over  every  feature 
that  holy  hush,  that  still  and  solemn  look, 
that  comes  to  us  but  once !  But  the  happy 
smile  still  lingered  around  the  mouth. 

"  Death  gazed,  and  left  it  there.    He  dared  not  steal 
The  8ignet-ring  of  heaven." 


248  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  XXni. 

PASSING  FROM   DEATH   UNTO  LIFE. 

The  holy  calm  upon  the  countenance  of 
the  dead  was  in  strange  contrast  to  the  sor- 
row and  consternation  of  the  living.  Mr. 
Richmond  immediately  withdrew  to  his 
room,  denying  himself  to  every  one ;  while 
Mrs.  Richmond  was  so  much  overcome  that 
she  was  carried  fainting  to  her  chamber.  So 
no  one  was  left  but  Ruth  and  the  hired  nurse 
to  perform  the  last  sad  office. 

"With  her  own  hands  Ruth  composed  his 
limbs  to  their  last  rest,  and  robed  him  for 
the  grave.  She  drew  the  long,  heavy  lashes 
down  over  the  eyes,  and  brushed  out,  for  the 
last  time,  the  beautiful  hair,  that  looked  like 
spun  gold. 

"When  all  was  over,  a  sense  of  exhaustion 
and  weariness  oppressed  her  that  she  could 
not  longer  withstand ;  and  going  to  her 
room  she  threw  herself  upon  the  bed,  and 
sank  into  a  heavy  slumber. 
.  "When  Ruth  awoke,  the  gray  dawn  was 
just  peeping   through   the   shutters.      She 


AXD   HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  249 

immediately  sprang  from  the  bed,  with  the 
involuntaiy  feehng  that  Ernest  would  be 
wanting  her.  Then  came  the  thought  that 
he,  whose  home  was  with  the  angels,  needed 
her  friendly  offices  no  longer,  bringing  with 
it  such  a  sense  of  pain  and  desolation. 

In  the  window-seat  Avas  a  rose-bush.^  Ern- 
est had  given  it  to  Ruth  when  it  was  but  a 
slip,  and  they  had  tended  it  together.  Now, 
for  the  first  time,  it  was  just  bursting  into 
bloom.  She  cut  off  some  of  the  half-opened 
buds,  and  taking  them  in  her  hand,  proceed- 
ed to  the  room  where  he  lay. 

There  is  something  solemn  in  the  presence 
of  t/he  dead,  and  for  a  moment  Ruth  stood 
motionless  beside  the  white  drapery  that 
concealed  him  from  her  view.  She  then 
lifted  it  with  reverential  tenderness  from  the 
head.  As  she  looked  upon  him  there  came 
into  her  mind  the  words  of  our  Saviour, 
"  she  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth."  But  as  she 
pressed  her  lips  to  his  forehead,  its  icy  chill 
told  her  that  it  was  the  sleep  from  which  no 
earthly  morn  would  arouse  him. 

As  she  placed  the  rose-buds  in  his  hands, 
and  laid  them  around  his  pillow,  she  strove 
to  calm  the  feelings  that  were  fast  overpow- 
ering her  by  thinking  of  the  immortal  flow- 
16 


250  ERNEST   lUClIMOXD 

ers  among  which  his  footsteps  were  straying, 
and  all  the  light  and  glory  that  surrounded 
him.  But  in  vain  ;  her  tears  fell  fast.  Then 
came  the  soothing  thought,  that  He  who 
wept  at  the  grave  of  Lazarus  would  not 
frown  upon  her  grief,  and  sinking  upon  her 
knees  she  wept  unrestrainedly. 

She  Was  aroused  by  a  light  touch  upon 
her  head.  She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  saw  that 
Mr.  Richmond  was  standing  by  her. 

"  Poor  child !"  he  said,  "  you  too  loved 
him." 

Then  turning,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  that 
still,  sweet  countenance,  which  looked  as 
though  it  was  carved  in  marble,  seemingly 
forgetful  of  her  presence. 

Unwilling  to  intrude  upon  his  grief,  Ruth 
was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  he  sud- 
denly stretched  out  his  hands  to  her,  saying, 

"  Your  prophecy  has  come  to  pass  !  Have 
you  no  word  of  comfort  for  me,  now  that  I 
am  left  childless  and  desolate  ?"  ' 

The  dreary  and  hopeless  look  which  ac- 
companied these  words  would  have  touched 
any  heart  of  ordinary  sensibility,  and  it  was 
some  moments  before  Ruth's  emotion  would 
allow  her  to  speak.     At  last  she  said, 

"I  cannot  comfort  you,  Mr.  Richmond; 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  251 

there  is  only  One  who  can  do  that.  Why, 
O  why  will  you  reject  him  ?" 

"  He  has  taken  my  boy  from  me !"  was 
the  almost  fierce  reply. 

"But  only  to  draw  the  father  to  Him," 
said  Ruth  gently. 

Mr.  Richmond  turned  his  head  away,  with 
an  impatient  gesture.  This  saying  was  too 
hard  for  him ;  he  could  not  bear  it. 

As  Ruth  slowly  and  sadly  left  the  room, 
a  ray  of  hope  darted  through  her  mind  ;  he 
had,  though  unconsciously,  acknowledged 
what  he  had  so  long  denied,  the  existence  of 
God. 

Calmly  and  tearlessly  Mr.  Richmond  went 
through  with  the  trying  ordeal  of  consigning 
to  the  grave  his  only  remaining  child.  He 
was  laid  beside  his  other  children ;  though 
imlike  them,  with  whom  he  made  a  show  of 
disregarding  the  claims  and  offices  of  Chris- 
tianity, he  was  interred  with  appropriate  re- 
ligious services,  conducted  by  one  of  the 
.resident  clergymen,  who  had  called  several 
times  to  see  Ernest  during  his  sickness. 

It  was  a  singular  sight  to  his  fellow- 
townsmen  to  see  the  well-known  infidel 
standing  with  uncovered  head  before  the 
open  grave  of  his  child,  while  the  clergy 


252  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

man,  in  accordance  mth  the  wish  of  the 
deceased,  made  a  brief  but  impressive  prayer. 
Near  its  conclusion,  the  minister  besought 
the  Almighty  "to  look  with  compassion 
upon  the  afflicted  father,  and  speak  peace  to 
his  troubled  soul."  But  Mr.  Richmond  gave 
no  intimation  either  of  dissent  or  approval ; 
that  stern,  impassible  countenance  was  no 
mirror  to  the  thoughts  that  were  busy  in  his 
heart. 

Immediately  after  the  funeral,  Mr.  Rich- 
mond busied  himself  in  carrying  out  every 
wish  that  Ernest  had  expressed  to  him ;  and 
even  those  that  he  could  only  guess,  were 
carefully  complied  with.  He  purchased 
Thomas  Conway's  time  of  his  father  with  a 
liberal  sum,  supplied  him  with  neat  and  suit- 
able clothing,  and  sent  him  to  school.  So 
sacred  did  he  hold  all  that  his  dead  boy  had 
said  to  him,  that  he  was  careful  to  place  him 
under  the  care  of  a  man  eminent  for  his 
piety,  and  to  see  that  he  boarded  in  a  Chris, 
tian  family. 

Yet  there  was  one  wish  that  had  not,  as 
yet,  been  complied  with.  This  omission 
weighed  heavily  upon  his  mind  one  night  as 
he  entered  his  library,  after  he  had  been  to 
the  depot  to  see  Thomas  start  for  the  school 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  253 

he  had  selected  for  him,  which  was  in  an 
adjoining  town. 

In  the  secret  chamber  of  his  soul,  Albert 
Richmond  acknowledged  the  existence  of 
some  overruling  power,  that  had  met  him  at 
every  point,  and  defeated  his  most  cherished 
plans,  and  whom  it  was  useless  to  resist ; 
but  it  had  aroused  only  a  spirit  of  hatred 
and  defiance.  It  was  unfortunate  for  him, 
at  this  time,  that  all  his  recollections  •  of 
Scripture  were  of  its  threatenings,  and  de- 
nunciations against  sin  ;  for  from  the  gloomy 
views  that  his  father  had  entertained,  his 
readings  had  been  mostly  from  the  Old 
Testament,  and  these  generally  consisted  of 
portions  which  dwelt  particularly  upon  the 
wrath  of  God  toward  his  rebellious  children. 
There  were  no  soothing  recollections  of  that 
kind  and  gracious  Being  who  "  pities  us,  even 
as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,"  to  melt  his 
heart  into  penitence  and  love. 

One  passage  in  particular  was  uppermost 
in  his  mind.  "  I  also  will  laugh  at  your 
calamity,  and  mock  when  your  fear  cometh." 
And  with  his  mind  warped  and  distorted  by 
the  influences  of  these  early  teachings,  and 
the  life  he  had  led  since,  he  felt  in  the  depths 
of  his  anguished  spirit  that  He,  whose  com- 


254  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

passionate  heart  was  so  full  of  tenderness 
toward  his  rebellious  son,  did  both. 

With  these  feelings,  it  will  be  readily  sup- 
posed  that  the  recollection  of  his  promise 
brought  no  very  pleasing  reflections  ;  but 
the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  made 
rendered  it  sacred  in  his  eyes,  and  he  determ- 
ined, at  whatever  cost  to  his  feelings,  that 
he  would  redeem  it,  and  at  once. 

JHis  elegant  and  spacious  hbrary  contained 
many  valuable  and  important  works;  but 
there  was  no  Bible  among  them,  as  he  well 
knew.  But  he  could  procure  one,  and  would 
that  very  night. 

Just  as  he  was  leaving  the  house  for  that 
purpose  he  suddenly  recollected  that  he 
had  a  Bible,  the  one  that  his  sister  had  given 
him  just  before  she  died.  It  was  a  holy 
thing  to  him,  because  it  was  her  gift;  and 
he  had  put  it  away  with  some  other  me- 
mentoes, and  had  not  thought  of  it,  or  looked 

at  it  since. 

I 

Upon  opening  the  box  that  contained  it, 
the  first  thing  that  his  eye  fell  upon  was  a 
long"  shining  ringlet.  As  he  laid  it  beside  a 
shorter  curl,  that  he  had  severed  from  the 
head  of  Ernest  when  he  lay  in  his  coffin,  he 
was  surprised  to  see  how  alike  they  were  in 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  255 

color  and  texture.  Then,  as  they  both  rose 
lip  before  his  mental  vision,  he  thought  how 
much  they  resembled  each  other  in  form  and 
disposition,  and  with  reverential  tenderness 
he  twined  them  together,  and  laid  them 
carefully  aside  in  one  corner  of  the  box.  He 
then  took  up  the  Bible  and  opened  it.  It 
was  originally  his  mother's;  her  maiden 
name  was  upon  one  of  the  blank  leaves. 
Beneath  it  was  the  name  of  his  sister.  As 
he  looked  upon  them,  how  many  tender 
recollections  arose  in  his  bosom ! 

With  a  softened  and  subdued  look  upon 
his  countenance  that  it  had  not  worn  for 
many  a  day,  he  turned  the  leaves  slowly 
over,  reading  here  and  there  a  passage ;  but 
his  mind  was  too  much  occupied  to  receive 
from  them  any  tangible  meaning. 

As  he  was  thus  engaged,  a  folded  paper 
fluttered  out  from  between  the  leaves  and 
fell  to  the  floor.  Mr.  Richmond  did  not 
observe  it;  he  had  just  commenced  to  read 
the  parable  of  the  prodigal  son,  whose  pathos 
and  beauty  is  readily  acknowledged,  even  by 
those  who  see  in  it  no  deeper  and  holier 
meaning.  He  was  not  yet  prepared  to 
receive  it  in  its  true  sense,  yet  it  could  not 
fail  to  have  some  effect  upon  a  nature  which, 


256  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

with  all  its  manliness  and  strength  of  char- 
acter, was  highly  poetical,  and  almost 
womanly  in  its  tenderness. 

It  presented  the  Deity  in  quite  a  different 
light,  and  there  was  a  thoughtful  look  in  his 
eyes,  as  at  its  conclusion  he  raised  them 
from  the  page.  As  he  did  so  they  fell  upon 
the  paper  that  lay  at  his  feet.  He  picked  it 
up.  It  was  yellow,  and  discolored  with  age. 
He  perceived  that  it  was  partly  covered 
with  writing,  and  opened  it.  As  his  eyes 
fell  upon  the  first  line  the  weary  and  ab- 
stracted look  vanished  from  his  countenance, 
giving  place  to  an  expression  of  deep  and 
absorbing  interest.  He  read  it  through 
twice.  Then  laying  it  down,  deep  and  con- 
vulsive sobs  burst  from  his  bosom,  and  tears 
fell  from  his  eyes,  like  the  big  and  heavy 
drops  of  rain  which  sometimes  precedes  the 
approach  of  some  terrible  storm. 

There  was  something  fearful  in  the  con- 
flict that  followed.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the 
powers  of  darkness  had  combined  to  resist 
the  inroad  of  the  light,  that  was  breaking  in 
upon  his  mind  on  every  side.  But  in  vain ; 
the  straggle,  though  violent,  Avas  very  brief, 
and  resulted  in  their  eternal  overthrow. 

With  an  eager  look,  he  turned  again  to 


AND  HIS   LITTLE  MOTHER.  257 

the  inspired  volume,  that  was  lying  open 
before  him.  As  he  reread  that  beautiful 
parable  the  scales  fell  from  his  blinded  eyes, 
the  heavy  clouds  that  had  so  long  obscured 
them  rolled  away  from  his  mental  vision. 
Each  word  had  a  new  and  tender  meaning. 
It  seemed  to  his  suddenly-awakened  mind 
that  it  was  written  expressly  for  him,  that  it 
spoke  directly  to  him ;  and  at  its  conclu- 
sion these  words  burst  from  his  lips:  '''■I will 
arise  and  go  to  my  Father?'' 

For  the  first  time  since  the  days  of  his 
boyhood,  that  stubborn  knee  was  bowed  in 
prayer.  And  did  He  whom  he  had  so  long 
rejected  and  denied  loait  to  receive  him? 
Nay,  he  saw  him  while  he  was  yet  afar  off, 
and  arose  and  met  him  by  the  way.  And 
as  there  fell  brokenly  from  his  lips  the 
acknowledgement  "that  he  had  sinned  be- 
fore heaven  and  in  his  sight,  and  was  not 
worthy  to  be  called  his  son,"  he  took  him 
into  the  arms  of  his  tender  and  compassion- 
ate love,  saying  to  his  troubled  soul  so 
clearly  and  distinctly,  that  in  the  elevation 
of  his  feelings  they  sounded  audibly  in  his 
ears,  "Son,  be  of  good  cheer;  thy  sins, 
which  are  many,  are  all  forgiven  thee." 

O  blessed  assurance !     Had  the  sun  burst 


258  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

forth  from  the  starless  blackness  of  a  raid- 
night  sky,  it  -would  not  have  wrought  a 
more  startling  change  in  the  face  of  nature 
than  did  those  words  upon  that  dark  and 
tortured  soul.  O  the  ineffable  peace,  the 
holy  joy  that  flowed  in  upon  his  heart!  What 
pen  can  describe  it  ? 

In  relating  his  experience  some  years 
after,  he  said  "  that  it  seemed  to  him  that 
the  light  with  which  God  flooded  his  soul 
gave  to  that  dimly-lighted  room  the  bright- 
ness of  noonday." 

Let  lis  now  examine  the  j^aper,  the  peru- 
sal of  which  seemed  to  have  aflected  Mr. 
Richmond  so  strongly.  The  words  it  con- 
tained were  evidently  traced  by  a  feeble, 
tremulous  hand,  and  ran  thus : 

"My  belovbd  and  only  Brother: — It 
is  not  probable  that  these  lines  will  reach 
you  until  all  that  is  earthly  of  me  will  be 
laid  away  in  'the  house  appointed  for  all 
the  living.'  Very  earnestly  have  I  prayed 
that  I  might  be  permitted  to  see  you,  if 
only  for  a  few  moments,  for  I  have  some- 
thing on  my  mind  to  say  to  you;  but  God 
has  not  as  yet  seen  fit  to  grant  that  prayer, 
and  my  life  is  ebbing  fast. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  259 

"You  miist  not  cherish  hard  feeUngs 
toward  our  dear  father  for  not  acquainting 
you  with  my  condition.  I,  that  can  read 
his  heart  better  than  either  of  his  other 
children,  know  that  it  cost  him  a  severe 
pang  to  deny  the  prayer  of  his  dying  daugh- 
ter ;  but  he  felt  that  in  keeping  us  apart,  he 
was  but  performing  the  duty  of  a  Christian 
father  ;  that  in  yielding  he  would  have  been 
guilty  of  an  unpardonable  weakness,  expos- 
ing him  to  the  just  wrath  of  God. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  brother,  if,  in  the  last 
words  that  I  shall  speak  to  you,  I  seem  to  re- 
proach you ;  but  I  cannot  feel,  in  regard  to 
this  unhappy  estrangement,  that  you  have 
been  wholly  blameless.  Our  father  was 
harsh  and  severe  in  his  ideas  of  family  disci- 
pline, yet  I  firmly  believe  that  in  all  the 
measures  that  he  has  taken  in  regard  to  you 
that  he  has  had  your  best  good  in  view.  If 
he  had  a  too  high  idea  of  his  authority  as  a 
father,  and  his  divine  right  to  the  reverence 
and  obedience  of  his  children,  you  were  ill 
inclined  to  give  to  him  the  deference  that 
was  liis  just  due.  You  wounded  him  in  a 
most  tender  point,,  ran  counter  to  his  most 
deeply-rooted  prejudices;  and  when  he  re- 
monstrated with  you,  though   I  own  with 


260  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

undue  harshness,  instead  of  trying  to  soften 
his  anger,  you  openly  defied  him,  avowing 
sentiments  the  most  abhorrent  to  his  feelings. 

"Albert,  dear  brother,  do  not  think, 
because  I  speak  thus,  that  I  have  failed  to 
appreciate  the  frequent  injustice  that  has 
been  done  you  from  your  boyhood,  or  that  I 
have  ceased  to  deplore  and  condemn  the 
harshness  and  severity  that  has  banished 
you  from  your  home.  My  heart  aches  when 
I  think  that  if  he  had  dealt  less  harshly 
with  you ;  if  he  had  made  some  allowance 
for  your  youth,  and  the  impetuosity  of  your 
nature ;  if  he  had  pointed  out  to  you,  kindly 
and  gently,  the  errors  into  which  you  had 
fallen,  all  this  sorrow  might  have  been 
spared  us. 

"  But  alas  for  our  poor  father !  he  knows 
nothing  of  the  influence  of  love  upon  the 
human  heart ;  has  no  faith  in  '  that  charity 
that  suffereth  long,  and  is  kind.'  He  feels 
that  if  he  did  less  than  banish  and  disown 
you,  he  would  not  only  be  unjust  to  his 
other  children,  but  share  in  the  guilt  of  your 
heresy,  and  prove  traitor  to  the  cause  that 
he  serves  with  such  faithful  but  mistaken 
zeal. 

"  Yet  I  am  certain  that  he  loves  you,  and 


AXD   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  261 

that  the  course  you  have  taken  is  a  great 
grief  to  him.  For  some  time  after  you  left 
us  he  used  always  to  mention  your  name  in 
his  prayers,  and  often  have  I  heard  his  voice 
falter  as  he  did  so.  It  was  not  until  aftei 
your  public  avowal  of  infidelity  that  he  ceased 
to  do  this.  Then  he  seemed  to  give  you  up, 
to  mourn  you  as  one  worse  than  dead,  and 
forbade  any  of  us  to  mention  your  name  in 
his  hearing.  I  never  shall  forget  his  look 
when  brother  John  handed  him  a  printed 
copy  of  your  first  address.  And  here  I  feel 
that  I  ought  to  tell  you,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  John's  influence  over  him  father  never 
would  have  proceeded  to  such  extreme  meas- 
ures. He  always  represented  all  you  said 
and  did  in  ite  worst  light  to  him,  and  art- 
fully, and  in  many  ways,  has  endeavored  to 
turn  his  heart  against  you.  His  object  is  to 
obtain  possession  of  the  homestead  and  the 
lands  adjoining  it,  and  I  fear  that  he  will 
succeed,  for  father  is  completely  deceived 
by  him,  and  already  talks  of  giving  up  to 
him,  at  no  very  distant  day,  the  control  of 
his  whole  property. 

"It  is  of  little  moment  to  me,  for  mine 
will  soon  be  'the  house  not  made  with 
hands ;'  but  I  cannot  bear  the  thought  that 


262  SKNEST  RICHMOND 

you  should  be  thus  wronged  out  of  your  in- 
heritance, and  defrauded  of  that  holy  thing, 
a  father's  blessing.  God  forgive  John  for 
this  most  unnatural  conduct,  and  soften  his 
hard  heart.  How  will  he  answer  for  it  when 
he  goes  up  before  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth, 
especially  for  the  still  greater  guilt  of  bring- 
ing so  much  disgrace  upon  the  cause  that  ho 
professes  to  honor  ? 

"  My  brother,  I  am  standing  upon  the  con- 
fines of  another  world.  Already  the  vail 
that  hides  it  from  our  view  is  being  lifted 
li-om  my  eyes.  Listen  to  me,  for  these  are 
the  last  words  that  I  shall  speak  to  you  on 
earth.  There  is  One,  whose  claims  upon  you 
are  infinitely  higher  than  those  of  the  kindest 
earthly  parent,  against  whom  you  are  in  open 
rebellion ;  return  to  him,  for  he  is  your  Fa- 
ther and  your  God.  There  is  another,  who 
laid  down  his  life  for  your  sake,  but  whom 
you  have  rejected  and  despised ;  flee  to  him, 
for  he  is  your  Saviour  and  your  Redeemer. 

"  I  am  unskilled  in  the  art  of  logic,  and  know 
not  by  what  strange  and  subtile  chain  of  rea- 
soning you  have  been  led  to  embrace  such  a 
dark  and  cheerless  faith.  But  look  abroad 
upon  the  face  of  nature,  and  say  if  it  does 
not  speak,  in  a  thousand  voices,  of  some  ere- 


AND  HIS   LITTLE   MOTHER.  263 

ating  and  sustaining  power.  Then  pause,  and 
question  the  Spirit  that  came  from  Him,  and 
must  return  to  Him,  and  it  will  tell  you  that 
there  is  a  God  ! 

"It  has  been  a  great  misfortune  to  you 
that  your  early  associations  of  religion  were 
of  such  a  gloomy  character ;  but  you  have 
made  a  sad  mistake  if  you  suppose  that  it 
was  the  religion  of  Christ  that  made  the  at- 
mosphere of  our  home  so  cold  and  cheerless. 
It  was  rather  the  absence  of  its  most  vital 
pi-inciple,  love:  that  love  which  led  him  to 
lay  down  his  life  for  his  enemies,  to  forgive 
his  murderers  with  his  dying  breath.  O  my 
brother!  what  love  is  there  like  that,  and 
can  you  longer  refuse  to  yield  to  its  holy  in- 
fluence ?  Our  poor  father  has  ever  regulated 
his  life  and  feelings  more  by  the  Old  Testa- 
ment than  the  New ;  forgetting  that  Christ 
came  to  do  that  away,  and  to  establish  a 
more  perfect  law.  God  open  his  eyes  to  a 
higher  and  a  holier  faith,  that  he  may  be 
able  to  rejoice  more  in  his  love  than  in  his 
wrath,  which  he  has  told  us  'is  but  for  a 
moment,  while  his  mercy  endureth  forever.' 

"Brother  of  my  heart,  companion  of  my 
childhood !  if  there  is  any  sacredness  in  my 
dying  prayers,  any  weight  in  my  dying  testi- 


264  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

mony,  let  them  appeal  to  you  now.  Fling 
from  you  the  soul-destroying  creed  that  has 
so  darkened  and  perverted  your  heart.  Son 
of  my  sainted  mother,  by  the  memory  of  her 
love  I  conjure  you  not  to  make  vain  the 
prayers  that  trembled  upon  her  lips  in  the 
last  struggle.     Let  her  God  be  your  God — " 

Here  it  broke  suddenly  off,  as  if  the  emo- 
tion of  the  writer  overpowered  her.  But  as 
no  name  was  attached  to  it,  it  was  evidently 
unfinished.  The  date  showed  that  it  was 
written  the  day  before  her  death,  which  the 
reader  will  remember  was  prematurely  hast- 
ened. 

For  £fteen  years  this  letter  had  laid  be- 
tween the  leaves  of  that  Bible,  unknown  to 
him  for  whom  it  was  intended.  For  fifteen 
years  the  seed  that  it  contained  had  lain  dor- 
mant, which  was  now  springing  up  and  bear- 
ing such  precious  fruit. 

How  true  it  is,  that  "  God's  thoughts 
are  not  our  thoughts,  nor  his  ways  our 
ways ;  that  as  the  heavens  are  higher  than 
the  earth,  so  are  his  ways  higher  than  our 
ways,  and  his  thoughts  than  our  thoughts." 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  265 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

MR.  RICHMOND'S  PUBLIC  AVOWAL  OF  HIS 
FAITH  IN  CHRIST. 

When  Mr.  Richmond  left  his  room  the 
next  morning  he  went  out  into  the  garden. 
It  was  a  beautiful  spring  morning;  the  air 
was  soft  and  balmy,  the  sky  clear  and  cloud- 
less, while  everything  around  was  bursting 
into  life  and  beauty,  yet  it  was  not  more 
beautiful  than  many  that  had  preceded  it. 
But  to  Mr.  Richmond's  eyes  the  face  of  na- 
ture seemed  to  wear  a  new  aspect ;  the  light 
and  joy  that  filled  his  soul  invested  every- 
thing upon  which  they  rested  with  a  halo  of 
glory.  He  could  now  gaze  out  upon  the 
stately  woods,  the  hills  and  meadows,  clad 
in  their  soft  vernal  robe,  saying,  with  a  full 
heart,  "  My  Father  made  them  all !" 

As  he  stood  there  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Ruth  the  other  side  of  the  garden,  bending 
over  a  bed  of  violets  to  inhale  their  fragrance; 
and  obeying  the  sudden  impulse  that  had 
seized  him  to  tell  her  of  the  glad  tidings  of 
great  joy  that  had  come  to  him,  he  passed 
quickly  over  to  her  side. 
17 


266  ERNEST  RICHMOin> 

As  Ruth  looked  upon  him  she  shrank  back 
surpi"ised,  for  when  she  pai'ted  from  him  the 
preceding  evening  his  countenance  wore  an 
expression  of  settled  gloom ;  but  now  it  was 
absolutely  radiant  with  joy,  and  the  terrible 
thought  struck  her,  that  under  the  heavy 
pressure  of  trouble  his  mind  had  given  way. 
But  the  first  word  that  he  spoke  reassured 
her,  and  as  he  proceeded  glad  and  happy 
tears  fell  from  her  eyes. 

And  Mr.  Richmond  wept  too.  Yes,  he 
who  had  Avitnessed  tearlessly  the  destruction 
of  his  dearest  hopes,  who  had  heard,  with  no 
outward  token  of  grief,  that  most  dreary  of 
all  sounds,  the  hollow  echo  of  the  earth  fall- 
ing upon  the  coffin  of  the  idol  of  his  heart, 
wept  freely  as  lie  spoke  of  the  dying  love  of 
Christ,  and  the  joy  and  peace  that  his  soul 
had  found  in  believing. 

Open  and  straightfor^vard  in  disseminating 
his  infidel  doctrines,  Mr.  Richmond  was  no 
less  frank  in  disclosing  this  sudden  and  entire 
change  in  his  feelings  and  opinions;  and 
scarcely  a  week  had  passed  before  it  was 
noised  through  the  neighborhood  that  Mr. 
Ric-hmond,  the  well-known  infidel,  had  em- 
braced Christianity.  Many  of  his  old  asso- 
ciates could  not  credit  it,  until  they  had 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  267 

received  the  assurance  from  his  own  lips; 
and  even  then  some  of  them  shook  their 
heads  sadly,  saying  "  that  he  had  gone  mad ; 
that  trouble  had  turned  his  brain," 

But  there  wei'e  others  who  understood 
him  better ;  earnest,  devoted  Christians,  with 
their  hearts  glowing  with  the  love  of  Christ, 
who  took  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  giving 
him  the  welcome  assurance  of  their  Christian 
love  and  sympathy. 

There  was  one  especially  who  hailed  this 
event  with  joy  and  thanksgiving.  It  was  a 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Howe,  pastor  over 
one  ofthe  Churches  in  the  place.  They  had 
graduated  at  the  same  college,  and  had  al- 
ways beien  warm  personal  friends.  This 
gentleman  had  watched  for  many  years  the 
wanderings  of  that  gifted  but  misdirected 
mind,  sorrowing  that  one  endowed  with  so 
many  rare  gifts  should  so  fearfully  pervert 
them.  They  had  had  many  controversies 
upon  the  truths  of  the  Bible;  many  and 
earnest  were  the  efforts  that  Mr.  Howe  had 
put  forth  to  open  his  eyes  to  the  knowledge 
of  his  error,  but  without  avail. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Howe  heard  of  his  conver- 
sion he  called  to  see  him.  After  conversing 
■with  him,  he  received  so  many  proofs  of  how 


268  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

perfect  had  been  the  work  of  grace  in  his 
soul,  and  was  so  affected  by  his  touching  ac- 
count of  the  manner  in  which  he  passed  from 
death  unto  life,  that  he  poured  forth  in  such 
glowing  language,  that  he  besought  him  to 
give  a  narration  of  it  in  his  church  upon  the 
ensuing  Sabbath,  assuring  him  that  it  might 
result  in  great  good. 

Mr.  Richmond  needed  no  persuasions  to 
induce  him  to  do  this.  Deteraiined  in  pur- 
pose and  energetic  in  action,  he  was  now  as 
strong  and  earnest  in  his  advocacy  of  the 
cause  of  Christ  as  he  had  hitherto  been  in 
his  opposition.  He  was  not  unmindful  of 
the  influence  that  his  example  and  opinions 
had  had  upon  the  minds  of  many  in 'the  com- 
munity where  he  lived,  to  which  his  position 
and  talents  had  given  double  force,  and 
eagerly  availed  himself  of  this  opportunity 
to  remove  it  as  far  as  possible. 

When  upon  the  following  Sabbath  Mr. 
Howe,  at  the  close  of  the  morning  service, 
announced  that  Mr.  Richmond,  the  reformed 
infidel,  would  deliver  a  discourse  in  the  after- 
noon, giving  an  account  of  his  conversion,  it 
was  received  with  an  appearance  of  marked 
interest,  and  at  the  appointed  time  the  church 
was  filled  to  overflowing ;  many  going  from 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  269 

motives  of  curiosity  who  rarely  frequented 
the  house  of  God. 

Tall  and  commanding  in  person,  and  sin- 
gularly prepossessing  in  appearance,  when 
Mr.  Richmond  arose  in  the  pulpit  every  eye 
was  riveted  upon  him.  The  sorrow  and 
mental  conflict  through  which  he  had  just 
passed  had  given  to  his  countenance  a  pallor 
which  was  rendered  still  more  apparent  by 
the  jetty  blackness  of  his  hair  and  eyes ;  but 
there  was  impressed  upon  every  feature  an 
-expression  of  solemn  joy,  of  holy  peace,  that 
could  not  be  mistaken.  And  as,  stretching 
out  his  hands,  he  invoked  upon  himself,  and 
upon  those  before  him,  the  blessing  of  that 
God  whose  existence  they  had  so  often  heard 
him  deny,  it  sent  a  thrill  of  awe  through  the 
heart  of  the  most  thoughtless  among  them. 
And  many  of  the  followers  of  Christ  looked 
from  one  to  another,  as  though  they  were 
saying  in  their  hearts,  "This  is  the  Lord's 
work,  and  it  is  marvelous  in  our  eyes." 

We  can  give  the  reader  but  a  faint  idea 
of  the  discourse  that  followed ;  but  one  who 
was  present  told  us  that  it  was  one  of  the 
most  eloquent  and  impressive  sermons  that 
he  ever  heard.  Mr.  Richmond  was  celebrat- 
ed for  his  eloquence,  being  considered  one 


270  EENEST  RICHMOND 

of  the  most  able  and  effective  speakers  ot  the 
day;  but  at  this  time  it  seemed  as  though 
the  Spirit  of  God  had  descended  upon  him, 
that  his  lips  were  touched  with  a  coal  of  fire 
from  his  altar.  And  as  he  proceeded  to  nar- 
rate his  wanderings  in  the  mazes  of  infidel- 
ity, describing  with  terrible  distinctness  his 
first  awakening,  the  fearful  struggles  of  his 
soul  with  the  darkness  of  unbelief,  and  his 
final  escape  from  "  the  bondage  of  sin  and 
death  to  the  glorious  liberty  of  the  Gospel," 
there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  all  that  crowded 
audience. 

This  was  the  commencement  of  one  of  the 
most  powerful  awakenings  ever  known  in 
that  section  of  the  country.  God  seemed  to 
pour  out  his  Spirit  upon  all  classes,  and  rich 
and  abimdant  was  the  harvest  that  was  gath- 
ered into  the  garner  of  the  Lord. 

For  several  weeks  Mr.  Richmond  preached 
both  day  and  evening  in  B.  and  in  adjacent 
towns,  thronged  by  crowds  of  attentive  and 
anxious  listeners,  and  great  and  glorious  was 
the  result.  Hundreds  of  souls  were  convert- 
ed, and  many  hearts  quickened  who  had 
"  forgotten  their  first  love." 

But  the  town  in  which  he  resided  was  the 
field  of  his  most  important  work.     It  was 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  271 

there  that  God  visited  his  people  in  all  his 
power  and  glory,  confirming  the  wavering, 
strengthening  the  weak,  and  converting  the 
impenitent.  The  infidel  club,  of  Wliich  he 
had  been  a  member  for  some  years,  was 
entirely  broken  up.  Ten  of  its  members 
became  humble,  devoted  Christians.  By 
common  .consent,  the  room  in  which  they 
used  to  meet  to  devise  means  to  retard  the 
advancement  of  the  kingdom  of  Christ,  was 
set  apart  for  a  place  of  prayer.  O  wondrous 
and  happy  change !  The  walls  that  had  so 
often  echoed  to  their  unholy  mirth,  were  now 
hallowed  by  the  voice  of  prayer  and  suppli- 
cation ;  and  they  who  used  to  meet  to  revile 
and  blaspheme,  now  assembled  to  praise  His 
holy  name,  who  had  bought  and  redeemed 
them  with  his  own  blood. 

It  seemed  to  Mr.  Richmond  that  God  had 
called  upon  him,  through  the  medium  of  his 
Holy  Spirit,  to  preach  the  Gospel ;  and  after 
consulting  with  several  of  his  Christian  breth- 
ren, he  determined  to  devote  the  remainder 
of  his  life  to  the  cause  of  his  Master. 

As  soon  as  he  had  decided,  he  broached  the 
subject  to  his  wife,  acquainting  her  with  his 
determination,  and  entreating  her  co-opera- 
tion with  him  in  the  great  work  for  which 


272  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

he  had  set  himself  apart.  He  expected  some 
opposition,  but  was  pained  and  surprised  at 
its  extent  and  bitterness.  She  seemed  to  be 
more  deeply  offended  at  what  she  termed  his 
fanaticism,  than  she  had  formerly  been  at  his 
infidelity  ;  assuring  him,  that  if  he  put  this 
plan  into  execution,  she  would  immediately 
return  to  her  father's  house. 

Finding  that  neither  argument  or  entreaty 
could  in  the  least  alter^  her  feelings,  Mr. 
Richmond  at  last  consented  that  she  should 
go,  settling  an  annuity  upon  her  amply 
sufficient  for  her  support.  She  had  scarcely 
reached  her  father's  home,  however,  when 
she  was  stricken  down  by  the  hand  of  dis- 
ease, and  such  rapid  progress  did  it  make, 
that  in  a  few  days  her  life  was  despaired  of. 

As  soon  as  her  husband  received  the  intel- 
ligence, he  started  immediately  to  see  her. 
In  less  than  a  week  after  his  arrival,  this 
most  unhappy  woman  breathed  her  last. 

Mr.  Richmond  scarcely  left  her  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  was  unwearied  in  his  efforts  to 
prepare  her  for  the  great  change  that  awaited 
her,  but  from  which  she  shrank  with  a  fear 
and  horror  indescribable.  Her  death-bed 
was  quite  a  contrast  to  the  peace  and  serenity 
of  the  last  one  he  had  witnessed.     It  was 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER,  273 

painful  to  witness  the  tenacity  with  which 
she  clung  to  life,  and  her  despair  when  she 
found  that  all  was  unavailing.  Just  before 
she  died,  her  husband  gathered  from  some- 
thing that  fell  from  her  lips  that  she  had 
made  her  peace  with  God,  and  it  filled  him 
with  great  joy,  for  well  he  knew  that  he 
would  reject  none  that  turned  to  him  in 
truth  and  sincerity  even  at  the  eleventh 
hour. 


274  ERNEST  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MR.  RICHMOND  VISITS  HIS  NATIVE  TOWN. 

Ever  since  Mr.  Richmond  had  read  his 
sister's  letter,  a  yearning  tenderness  had 
sprang  up  in  his  heart  for  the  aged  father 
from  whom  he  had  been  estranged  so  many 
years  ;  and  he  determined  that  he  would  not 
rest  until  he  had  received  his  forgiveness  and 
blessing.  But  various  circumstances  seemed 
to  combine  to  prevent  his  putting  this  plan 
into  execution. 

A  short  time  after  the  death  of  his  wife, 
an  incident  occurred  which  made  him  re- 
solve to  delay  no  longer  the  fulfillment  of  so 
plain  and  positive  a  duty.  He  chanced  to 
meet  at  the  bouse  of  a  friend  a  clergyman 
from  his  native  town,  pastor  of  the  Church 
of  which  his  father  was  a  member.  It  was 
not  the  minister  so  familiar  to  Mr.  Rich- 
mond in  his  early  life ;  he  had  some  years 
since  gone  to  his  rest ;  but  a  younger  man,  of 
a  more  genial  and  happy  temperament,  enter- 
taining far  more  liberal  and  enlightened  views, 
and  imbued  more  with  the  Spirit  of  Christ. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  275 

By  conversing  Avith  him  he  learned  of  the 
death  of  his  Aunt  Prudence.  He  found, 
also,  that  his  sister's  fears  had  become  real- 
ized ;  that  some  years  ago  his  father  had 
given  up  his  entire  property  into  the  hands 
of  his  brother  John,  upon  the  condition  that 
he  was  to  give  iiim  a  good  and  comfortable 
support  for  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

He  told  him,  furthermore,  that  John  had 
brought  a  wife  to  the  old  homestead,  and 
had  quite  a  family  springing  up  around  him ; 
that  report  said  that  the  old  man  was  not 
happy  in  his  new  home  ;  that  neither  his  son's 
wife  or  cliildren  gave  him  the  respect  and 
consideration  that  was  his  due,  and  which  he 
had  always  been  accustomed  to  receive  from 
his  household.  That  even  the  son,  who 
owed  him  so  much,  and  upon  whom  he  had 
placed  so  much  reliance,  entirely  absorbed 
in  adding  to,  and  rendering  still  more  valu- 
able his  already  large  property,  had  grown 
indifferent,  if  not  neglectful  of  his  comfort. 

This  ingratitude  on  the  part  of  his  favorite 
son,  from  whom  he  had  expected  such  differ- 
ent things,  pierced  Deacon  Richmond's  heart 
to  the  quick.  He  made  no  comments  or  com- 
plaints ;  but  as  time  moved  on,  and  he  found 
himself  a  cipher  in  the  house  where  he  had 


276  ERNEST  BICHMOND 

once  reigned  a  king,  his  pride  seemed  to  give 
way,  and  he  lost  that  air  of  conscious  power 
and  dignity  that  was  natural  to  him.  Yet 
with  the  sadness  that  had  now  become  ha- 
bitual to  him,  thei'e  was  mingled  a  look  of 
gentleness  that  his  countenance  had  never 
worn  before;  and  it  was  observed  that  he 
had  grown  more  kind  and  charitable,  more 
tolerant  of  those  who  diflfered  from  him  in 
opinion,  and  less  inclined  to  be  harsh  and 
severe  in  his  judgment.  That  when  he 
spoke  in  their  prayer-meetings,  though  it  was 
but  seldom,  that  he  spoke  more  of  the  joy 
and  the  peace  of  the  Gospel,  that  he  dwelt 
more  upon  the  love  of  God,  upon  his  for- 
bearance and  long-suffering  than  upon  his 
wrath. 

When  this  clergyman  learned  who  he  was, 
and  something  of  the  history  of  his  past  life, 
he  gave  him  a  cordial  invitation  to  return 
with  him  upon  the  ensuing  day ;  which  Mr. 
Richmond,  upon  hearing  that  his  father  had 
grown  veiy  infirm  within  the  last  two  years, 
and  was  not  likely  to  live  a  great  while 
longer,  determined  to  accept. 

They  started  early  in  the  morning,  but  it 
was  near  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  before 
they  reached  their  destination. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  277 

After  a  short  season  for  rest  and  refresh- 
ment, Mr,  Richmond  took  his  hat  and  passed 
out  into  the  street.  As  he  walked  along  he 
met  some  familiar  faces,  but  received  from 
them  no  look  of  recognition ;  for  fifteen  years 
had  produced  quite  an  alteration  in  his  per- 
sonal appearance. 

He  perceived,  as  he  looked  around,  that 
the  spirit  of  improvement  had  wrought  many- 
changes  ;  that  the  town  had  increased,  both 
in  size  and  population.  Many  of  the  old  in- 
habitants had  moved  away  or  died,  and 
strangers  had  usurped  their  places.  A  num- 
ber of  new  and  stately  edifices  had  been 
erected.  An  imposing  structure  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  little  brown  school-house, 
where  he  and  his  sister  Grace  had  been  in- 
itiated into  the  first  mysteries  of  learning. 
But  the  lane  that  led  to  it  was  still  there, 
the  same  trees  stretched  their  branches  over 
his  head  as  he  walked  along.  There,  too, 
was  the  brook,  with  its  mimic  ponds  and 
waterfalls,  over  which  he  used  to  carry  her 
with  such  a  proud  consciousness  of  superior 
strength.  As  he  looked  upon  it  his  eyes 
grew  moist  with  tender  recollections,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  it  was  but  yesterday  since 
aiie  stood  beside  him  there;  that  he  oould 


278  ERNEST   RICHMOND 

foel  the  clasping  of  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
her  warm  breath  upon  his  cheek ;  that  again 
her  voice  sounded  in  his  ears,  saying,  "  Don't 
let  me  fall,  Ally  !" 

As  he  approached  the  broad  acres  that 
were  attached  to  the  old  homestead,  every- 
thing grew  still  more  familiar.  Upon  one 
side  were  the  woods,  where  they  used  to 
"  go  a  nutting ;"  on  the  other  was  the  or- 
chard, where  they  had  their  swing ;  a  little 
further  along  was  the  large  cherry-tree, 
which  used  to  grow  such  famous  black-heart 
cheri'ies.  How  often  had  he  sat  upon  that 
huge,  overhanging  bough,  flinging  down  to 
her  large  clusters  of  its  rich,  luscious  fruit. 
It  seemed  as  though  he  could  almost  see  her 
standing  there  beneath  the  tree,  holding  her 
little  apron  out  to  catch  them  as  they  fell. 

The  holy  and  tender  thoughts  which  these 
familiar  scenes  aroused  in  his  bosom  made 
Mr.  Richmond  almost  insensibly  alter  his 
course,  and  turning  down  a  narrow,  secluded 
path,  that  led  from  the'public  road,  he  paused, 
before  a  little  gate,  a  private  entrance  to  the 
village  burying-ground.  Opening  it,  he 
passed  in.  As  he  walked  along,  he  saw 
here  and  there  many  familiar  names ;  but  he 
did  not  pause  until  he  came  to  the  retir^ 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  279 

comer,  which  his  father  had  set  apart,  many 
years  before,  for  the  dead  of  his  own  house- 
hold. 

There,  side  by  side,  lay  his  mother  and 
sister.  When  they  were  little  children,  he 
and  Grace  had  planted  some  flowers  upon 
their  mother's  grave ;  they  were  now  as 
thick  upon  one  grave  as  the  other.  They 
had  grown  very  luxuriantly  ;  especially  some 
climbing  roses,  which  he  well  remembered 
that  his  sister  had  set  out  with  her  own 
hands,  and  which,  reaching  over,  were  now 
laying  in  thick  and  heavy  clusters  over  the 
white  head-stone,  upon  which  were  graven 
these  words : 

"  Sacred  to  the  memory  of 
GKACE  EDITH, 

Only  daughter  of  Deacon  Richmond, 

Who  died  in  the  morning  of  life, 

Aged  eighteen. 

'  Messed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord.'' " 

"  Yea,  for  they  rest  from  their  labors,  and 
their  works  do  follow  themP^  was  Mr.  Rich- 
mond's involuntary  response  as  he  read  the 
concluding  line. 

As  he  raised  his  eyes,  he  saw  an  aged  man 
slowly  approaching  the  spot  where  he  stood, 
leaning  heavily  upon  a  cane.     As  he  drew 


280  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

nearer  his  heart  beat  fast,  for  though  the 
form  was  bent  that  was  once  so  erect  and 
vigorous,  and  the  step,  once  so  firm,  was 
now  feeble  and  tremulous,  he  saw  that  it 
was  his  father.  How  strange  it  was  that 
their  first  meeting  should  be  upon  the  hal- 
lowed ground  where  they  had  parted  so 
many  years  before !  He  shuddered  when  he 
remembered  the  impious  words  that  he  had 
then  spoken,  and  then  an  emotion  of  grati- 
tude filled  his  soul  as  he  thought  of  the 
mercy  that  had  thus  spared  and  redeemed 
him. 

Mr.  Richmond's  first  impulse  was  to 
spring  forward,  and  fall  upon  his  father's 
neck ;  but  he  saw,  by  his  first  glance,  that 
he  was  not  recognized;  and,  upon  second 
thought,  he  judged  that  it  would  be  better 
for  tim  to  ascertain  something  in  relation  to 
his  feelings  toward  him  before  he  disclosed 
himself. 

When  his  father  came  up  to  him,  Mr. 
Richmond  reverently  uncovered  his  head 
and  bowed,  as  though  moved  by  respect 
for  his  age  and  venerable  appearance ;  which 
Deacon  Richmond  courteously  returned,  and 
then  fixed  his  eyes  steadfastly  upon  the  grave 
before  him. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  281 

"Some  relative,  I  presume,"  said  Mr. 
Richmond,  after  a  respectful  pause. 

"  My  only  daughter,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

Mr.  Richmond  hesitated,  hardly  knowing 
how  to  ascertain  what  he  so  much  wished 
to  know.  At  last  he  thought  of  the  inscrip- 
tion upon  the  tomb-stone  of  his  sister,  upon 
which  his  father's  eyes  were  resting,  and  he 
said, 

"Then  I  have  the  honor  of  addressing 
Deacon  Richmond." 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir,"  said  the  old  man 
mildly,  though  with  evident  surprise. 

"I  am  well  acquainted  with  your  son 
Albert,  who  strongly  resembles  you.  If  I 
mistake  not,  you  have  a  son  by  that 
name  ?" 

Deacon  Richmond  shook  his  head. 

"I  had  a  son  by  that  name,"  he  said, 
"  but  he  has  been  dead  these  many  years." 

Mr.  Richmond  felt  keenly  the  mournful 
reproach  conveyed  by  these  words;  but 
affecting  to  misunderstand  him,  he  said, 

"I  think  that  you  must  be  mistaken,  for  I 
saw  him  only  a  short  time  since." 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  speaker  attent- 
ively for  a  moment,  and  then  said, 

"  Was  he  in  good  health,  sir?" 
18 


282  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

"He  was  quite  well.  I  expect  to  see  him 
again  shortly,  and  shall  be  happy  to  be  the 
bearer  of  any  message  that  you  may  think 
proper  to  send  him." 

Deacon  Richmond  bent  his  eyes  thought- 
fully upon  the  ground,  and  then  raising 
them,  said  tremulously, 

"  You  may  tell  him,  sir,  that  his  father  is 
still  alive,  though  standing  upon  the  brink 
of  the  grave.  That  he  ceases  not,  morning 
and  evening,  to  beseech  God,  with  many 
tears,  to  turn  him  from  the  error  of  his 
ways." 

Mr.  Richmond  was  deeply  affected,  and 
with  difficulty  kept  back  his  tears. 

"  I  fear  that  he  has  been  a  great  grief  to 
you,"  he  said,  "  that  he  is  an  unkind  and 
tmdutiful  son." 

"I  don't  know,  I  don't  know.  Albert 
used  to  have  a  kind,  generous  heart  when 
he  was  a  lad.  If  his  mother  had  lived  he 
would  have  been  different;  but  she  died 
when  he  was  but  a  child.  He  was  high- 
spirited,  and  impatient  of  restraint ;  and  I 
have  thought,  of  late  years,  that  if  I  had 
dealt  less  harshly  with  him  he  might  never 
have  done  as  he  has.  But  I  meant  it  for 
the  best." 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  283 

The  look  and  tone  in  which  this  was  said 
were  indescribably  touching  and  mournful. 

"  Supposing  that  I  should  tell  you,"  said 
Mr.  Richmond,  making  a  strong  effort  to 
control  his  feelings,  "  that  God  had  answered 
your  prayers,  and  brought  the  wanderer 
back  to  him." 

The  old  man  started,  trembling  in  every 
limb.  "Do  not  trifle  with  me,  sir,"  he 
said,  "for  I  am  old  and  feeble,  and  cannot 
bear  it." 

"As  God  is  my  judge,"  said  Mr.  Rich- 
mond solemnly,  "I  am  not  trifling  with  you. 
I  have  myself  heard  him  make  a  public 
acknowledgment  of  his  past  errors,  express- 
ing the  firmest  conviction  in  the  existence 
and  mercy  of  God." 

Big  tears  rolled  down  those  wrinkled 
cheeks  faster  than  the  trembUng  hands 
could  wipe  them. 

"God  is  better  to  me  than  I  deserve,"  he 
said  brokenly.  "Tell  my  son  to  come  to 
me,  that  I  may  see  and  bless  him  before  I 
die !" 

Albert  Richmond  was  silent,  completely 
overcome  by  the  emotion  that  he  was  unable 
longer  to  conceal.  His  broad  chest  heaved, 
his  lips   quivered,  and   tears,  that  did  no 


284  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

wrong  to  his  manhood,  fell  fast  from  his 
eyes.  He  brushed  back  the  hair  that  partly 
shaded  his  forehead,  and  turning  upon  his 
father  a  look  of  reverential  tenderness,  said 
falteringly, 

"  Have  years  of  sin  and  folly  so  altered  me 
that  you  do  not  know  me,  father?  I  am 
Albert,  your  son!  your  penitent,  but  most 
unworthy  child  !" 

As  he  said  this,  he  threw  himself  at  his 
father's  feet  and  embraced  his  knees,  ex- 
claiming, as  his  father  endeavored  to  raise 
him, 

"  Nay,  I  will  not  rise  until  I  have  received 
your  blessing!" 

The  old  man  laid  his  trembling  hands 
upon  that  bowed  head. 

"  God,  thy  father's  and  thy  mother's  God, 
bless  thee,  my  son,"  he  said  solemnly,  "and 
for  the  dear  sake  of  Christ  forgive  all  our 
past  errors !" 

Long  and  tender  was  the  communion  be- 
tween the  long  separated  father  and  son. 
There  was  much  to  be  communicated  on 
both  sides,  and  the  shades  of  evening  were 
gathering  fast  when  they  arose  to  leave  the 
spot,  hallowed  by  being  the  last  resting- 
place  of  those  so  dear  to  them  both,  and 


Deacon    Richmond   blessin?   his   Son. 


AND   HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  287 

now  the  scene  of  their  most  happy  reconcili- 
ation. 

As  Deacon  Richmond  picked  up  his  cane 
from  the  ground,  where  it  had  fallen,  his  son 
took  it  gently  from  him,  saying,  as  he  drew 
his  arm  tenderly  within  his  own, 

"  Nay,  dear  father,  you  have  no  need  of 
that  while  you  have  this  strong  arm  to  lean 
upon." 

The  old  man  looked  into  that  manly  coun- 
tenance with  a  smile  of  mingled  pride  and 
affection.  And  as  they  walked  slowly  along, 
it  was  beautiful  to  see  how  confidingly  he 
rested  upon  the  arm  of  his  son,  and  how 
carefully  that  son  accommodated  his  own 
movements  to  the  feeble  step  of  his  com- 
panion. 

As  they  approached  the  house,  Albert  saw 
some  children  playing  near  the  door,  whom 
he  readily  conjectured  to  be  his  brother's. 
As  soon  as  they  perceived  him  they  rushed 
into  the  house,  exclaiming  at  the  top  of  their 
voices, 

"  Father,  grandpa  is  coming  up  the  avenue 
with  a  strange  gentleman  !" 

John  arose  from  the  seat  where  he  sat 
reading,  and  turning  to  the  window  that 
conunanded  a  full  view  of  them,  looked  out. 


288  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

As  lie  did  so  he  turned  pale  with  dismay,  for 
well  did  he  surmise  who  it  was  upon  whose 
arm  his  father  was  leaning.  He  feared  to 
meet  the  eye  of  his  injured  brother ;  for  well 
did  he  know  that  a  large  proportion  of  the 
property  he  held  consisted  of  the  rich  dowry 
that  his  mother  had  brought  her  husband, 
and  of  which  he  had  taken  the  most  dishon- 
orable means  to  rob  her  children.  Judging 
his  brother's  feelings  by  his  own,  he  doubted 
not  but  what  he  had  come  to  demand  an  im- 
mediate recognition  of  his  just  rights. 

These  thoughts  were  passing  rapidly 
through  his  mind,  when  his  father  and 
brother  entered.  As  Albert  looked  upon 
the  face  of  his  brother  his  heart  was  moved 
with  fraternal  affection,  and  extending  his 
hand,  he  gave  to  him  a  brother's  greeting. 

John  took  his  hand,  though  it  was  with 
evident  reluctance,  while  his  countenance 
and  manner  showed  plainly  that  he  did  not 
share  in  his  feelings,  but  regarded  him  as  an 
intruder. 

As  Deacon  Richmond  looked  upon  John's 
lowering  countenance  he  was  displeased;  and 
rebuking  him  with  patriarchal  dignity,  he 
said  to  him,  in  the  language  of  one  of  old : 

" '  It  is  meet  that  we  should  make  merry. 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  289 

and  be  glad;  for  this,  thy  brother,  was 
dead,  and  is  alive  again ;  was  lost,  and  is 
found.' " 

Albert  understood  at  a  glance  the  cause 
of  his  brother's  coolness,  and  hastened  to 
remove  it  by  saying ; 

*'Do  not  fear,  John,  that  I  have  come  to 
disturb  you  in  the  possession  of  what  you 
have  so  long  coveted.  I  have  already  mor'e 
wealth  at  my  command  than  is  sufficient  for 
the  supply  of  all  my  simple  wants." 

John's  countenance  cleared  at  this  assur- 
ance, though  he  was  still  somewhat  incredu- 
lous as  to  its  sincerity,  the  generous  spirit 
that  prompted  it  being  entirely  beyond  the 
comprehension  of  his  narrow  and  selfish 
mind.  To  his  father's  great  relief,  however, 
he  managed,  with  some  little  show  of  broth- 
erly affection,  to  invite  him  to  stay  at  his 
house  while  he  remained  in  town,  though  he 
was  evidently  relieved  when  his  invitation 
was  declined. 

It  was  more  difficult  for  Mr.  Richmond  to 
withstand  the  appealing  look  of  his  father, 
whose  heart  was  filled  with  self-reproach  as 
he  thought  that  he  had,  by  his  own  act, 
placed  it  entirely  out  of  his  power  to  extend 
to  his  own  child  the  hospitality  of  a  home 


290  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

that  was  no  longer  his.  But  he  was  com- 
forted by  the  assurance  that  his  son  gave 
him,  that  he  should  see  him  at  an  early  hour 
in  the  morning. 

As  Mr.  Richmond  retraced  his  way  to  the 
house  of  his  friend,  his  mind  was  full  of 
anxious  thought.  It  was  evident  to  him 
that  his  father  was  not  happy  in  his  broth- 
er's home ;  and  the  more  he  reflected  upon 
it,  the  more  he  was  desirous  of  removing 
him  to  his  own.  But,  judging  his  brother's 
heart  by  his  own,  he  was  puzzled  how  to 
bring  it  about  without  wounding  his  feel- 
ings. He  might  have  spared  himself  this 
anxiety  had  he  known  that  John  had  already 
begun  to  consider  his  father  a  burden,  from 
which  he  would  very  gladly  be  relieved. 

The  next  day,  as  Albert  was  going  over 
the  farm  with  his  brother,  who  was  pointing 
out  to  him  the  numerous  improvements  he 
had  made  since  it  came  into  his  possession, 
the  thought  entered  his  mind  that  this  would 
be  a  favorable  opportunity  of  sounding  him 
on  the  subject.  So  he  commenced  by  say- 
ing, 

"  I  told  you  last  night,  brother  John,  that 
I  had  not  come  to  deprive  you  of  any  of  your 
possessions,  and  yet  there  is  one  that  I  am 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  291 

very  desirous  of  obtaining,  and  to  which  you 
cannot  but  acknowledge  that  I  have  an  equal 
claim  with  yourself." 

John's  countenance  fell ;  his  selfish  and 
grasping  mind  was  alarmed  at  the  idea  that 
his  brother  was  about  to  ask  him  for  some 
portion  of  the  property  that  he  had  just  been 
admiring.  So  he  stammered  out  something 
about  "  being  poor,  and  having  a  large  fam- 
ily to  support." 

As  soon  as  Albert  comprehended  his 
brother's  mistake,  and  the  fears  to  which  it 
had  given  rise,  for  the  first  time  since  his  re- 
turn his  countenance  lighted  up  with  that 
expression  of  indignation  before  which  John 
had  so  often  quailed. 

"I  am  afraid,  John,  that  you  are  poor," 
he  said ;  "  but  it  is  a  poverty  more  of  the 
heart  than  of  the  purse.  God  give  you  a 
more  liberal  spirit ;  more  in  unison  with  His 
whom  you  profess  to  love,  who  for  our  sakes 
became  poor,  enduring  not  only  poverty,  but 
death  itself,  that  he  might  purchase  for  us 
the  gift  of  eternal  life.  How  often  must  I 
assure  you  that  I  covet  not  one  dollar  of  the 
wealth  that  I  cannot  forget,  even  if  I  would, 
is  more  mine  than  yours  ?  I  did  but  allude 
to  our  revered  father,  whom  I  would  esteem 


292  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

it  a  privilege  to  have  with  me  during  the 
remainder  of  his  life." 

Even  the  shame  and  anger  that  John  felt 
at  this  severe,  though  merited  rebuke,  could 
not  prevent  a  feeling  of  relief,  and  self-con- 
gratulation at  its  concluding  sentence.  He 
assured  his  brother,  "  that  if  it  was  his  fa- 
ther's wish,  he  should  not  have  the  slightest 
objection." 

And  as  Albert  looked  upon  his  counte- 
nance, and  observed  how  the  selfish  pro- 
pensities of  his  nature  had  grown  stronger 
with  each  succeeding  year,  becoming  legibly 
impressed  upon  every  feature,  he  did  not 
doubt  his  sincerity. 

So,  when  he  returned  to  the  house,  he 
gladdened  the  heart  of  his  father  by  the  as- 
surance, that  though  he  must  leave  him  in  a 
few  days,  he  would,  after  making  a  few 
necessary  arrangements,  come  back,  and 
take  him  to  his  own  home.  But  God,  in  his 
higher  wisdom,  had  ordered  it  otherwise. 

After  some  deliberation,  Mr.  Richmond 
determined  to  accept  the  urgent  invitation 
of  the  clergyman,  at  whose  house  he  was 
stopping,  to  remain  and  preach  for  him  on 
the  following  Sabbath. 

There  were  many  in  town  who  remem- 


AND  HIS  LITTLE  MOTHER.  298 

bered  him  as  a  wild  and  reckless  boy,  and 
curiosity,  as  well  as  more  commendable  feel- 
ings, drew  together  a  crowd  of  attentive 
hearers. 

Mr.  Richmond  entered  the  church,  sup- 
porting tenderly  the  tottering  steps  of  his 
aged  father,  followed  by  his  brother  and  his 
family.  After  opening  the  pew-door,  and 
seeing  his  father  comfortably  seated  in  one 
corner,  he  turned  and  mounted  the  pulpit 
stairs,  his  heart  full  of  the  strange  dealings 
of  God  with  him  since  he  last  entered  that 
holy  place. 

He  chose  for  his  subject  the  return  of  the 
prodigal  son.  This  eloquent  and  affecting  dis- 
course was  never  forgotten  by  those  who  heard 
it,  and  resulted  in  the  conversion  of  many. 

Deacon  Richmond  never  once  removed 
his  eyes  from  the  countenance  of  his  son 
until  its  conclusion.  Then  leaning  back  in 
his  seat,  while  tears  rolled  slowly  down  his 
cheeks,  he  said,  in  tones  that  were  quite 
audible  to  those  who  were  sitting  near  him, 
"  Lord,  let  now  thy  servant  depart  in  peace, 
for  mine  eyes  have  seen  thy  salvation !" 

That  night  he  was  taken  alarmingly  ill, 
and  at  the  close  of  the  following  day  he  "fell 
asleep  in  Jesus." 


294  ERNEST  RICHMOND 

He  died  happy  in  the  love  of  Christ ;  with 
his  head  resting  upon  the  bosom  of  the  son 
he  had  once  mourned  as  dead,  blessing  him 
with  his  latest  breath,  and  declaring  ^'that 
his  last  days  were  better  than  his  first." 

There  remains  now  but  little  more  to  be 
said.  After  seeing  all  that  was  earthly  of 
his  father  laid  by  the  side  of  his  wife  and 
daughter,  Mr.  Richmond  returned  to  the 
field  of  his  former  labors,  strengthened 
rather  than  saddened  by  the  scene  through 
which  he  had  just  passed.  He  is  still  a  de- 
voted minister  of  Christ,  concentrating  all 
his  energies  to  the  advancement  of  his  cause. 
He  has  been  signally  successful  in  all  his 
efforts,  and  according  to  the  promise,  "  that 
those  who  turn  many  into  the  ways  of  right- 
eousness shall  shine  as  the  stars  of  heaven 
forever,"  glorious  will  be  his  reward. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  the  honors  that  have 
been  showered  upon  him,  the  many  that  have 
risen  up  to  call  him  blessed,  nothing  can  ex- 
ceed the  unaffected  humility  of  his  heart  and 
deportment.  In  speaking  of  himself  as  a 
minister  of  Christ,  he  often  uses  the  language 
of  Paul:  "  Not  worthy  to  be  called  an  apostle, 
because  I  persecuted  the  Church  of  God." 

Ruth  Sidney  still  pursues  her  quiet  way, 


AND  HIS  LITTLE   MOTHER.  295 

as  of  old,  still  performing  many  acts  of 
Christian  love  and  kindness,  but  so  unob- 
trusively that  it  is  scarcely  noticed  by  the 
gay  world  around  her. 

She  is  the  faithful  friend  and  counselor  of 
him  whos6  moral  darkness  she  so  long  de- 
plored, and  whose  glorious  redemption  she 
hailed  with  such  fervent. joy.  Rumor  says 
that  she  will  soon  sustain  to  him  a  nearer  and 
dearer  relation.  I  know  not  how  true  this 
report  may  be ;  but  of  this  I  am  confident, 
and  I  am  sure  that  the  reader  will  agree 
with  me,  that  for  the  work  in  which  he  is 
engaged,  he  could  not  possibly  find  a  better 
or  more  fitting  helpmeet. 

Those  who  have  become  interested  in 
Thomas  Conway  will  be  glad  to  learn  that 
he  nobly  redeemed  the  promise  rnade  by  the 
death-bed  of  the  dear  child  whose  short  life 
accomplished  so  much  good,  and  whose  death 
was  still  more  precious.  The  seed  sown  by 
that  little  hand  is  fast  springing  up  in  that 
young  heart,  giving  the  promise  of  bearing 
rich  and  precious  fruit. 

Mr.  Richmond  has  become  much  attached 
to  him,  bestowing  upon  him  the  care  and 
protection  of  a  father,  and  receiving  from 
him  the  love  and  duty  of  a  son. 


296  ERNEST  RICHMOND. 

He  has  annoi;nced  his  intention  of  bestow- 
ing upon  his  adopted  son  tlie  benefits  of  a 
liberal  education ;  and  he  bids  fair,  in  the 
years  that  are  coming,  to  become  one  of 
those  brave  soldiers  of  the  cross,  clad  in  the 
armor  of  truth  and  righteousness, 'mighty  in 
word  and  deed,  strong  for  the  down-throw- 
ing of  the  strongholds  of  sin  and  error,  and 
for  the  up-building  of  the  Church  of  God. 


THE  END. 


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ROSA,  THE  WORK  GIRL. 

By  the  Author  of  "  The  Irish  Dove."  Two  Illus- 
tratious.     18mo.,  pp.  138. 

THE  FIERY   FURNACE; 

Or,  the  Story  of  Shadraeh,  Meshach,  and  Abednego. 
By  a  Sunday-School  Teacher.  Two  Uluatrations. 
18mo.,  pp.  64. 

ELIZABETH  BALES: 

A  Pattern  for  Sunday-School  Teachers  and  Tract 
Distributers.    By  J.  A.  Jaues.    18mo.,  pp.  84. 

SOCIAL  PROGRESS; 

Or,  Business   and  Pleasure.     By  the  Author  of 

"  Nature's  Wonders,"  ''  Village  Science,"  etc.  Six- 
teen Illustrations.     18mo.,  pp.  269. 

MINES  AND  MINING. 

19mo  ,  pp.  212. 


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UGSB  LIBRARY 


A     000  605  491     0 


